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prairie rites

 
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Madison Rye
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Joined: 17 May 2009
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PostPosted: Tue Apr 25, 2017 7:53 am    Post subject: prairie rites Reply with quote

And who's seen Jezebel?
She went walking where the cedars line the road
Her blouse on the ground
Where the dogs were hungry, roaming..


For a long time there was only the acetate reminder on her tongue of motor oil. Behind that, coiled up tight, a conspiracy of notes that sought to fool and forewarn; the bitter, biting, black-coffee of pure gunpowder straight out of the barrel, the sharp and relentless taste of naked wood at her teeth as she lay face down in a deputy's cell on moonless and sunless days with only the shadow of the bars reflected across the wall as compass to the time and her only notion to the travel of it until she was free as the wind on the plains, back then when she hadn't bled out like a soldier in a war that she had begun with her own hands and her own fate. Spirals of dust kicked up at sunset beneath Eli's boots told of a good bye and a resignation to the violent living of these kinds.

Things had begun in ash and begun in rain. Some in fire and some in sin. It was a taste she could discern even as she stared without open eyes up at the criss-crossing branches that glistened overhead. Pallbearers in the still night where every crack of a twig beyond her lingered loud as her heart was heavy.

In the fields of death under a sad oak there was no breathing room for memory. The buried woman remained closed of eye and tarnishing like a painting swallowed by flames and run through with blistering black stain. The coyotes would return to the grave and make their song to the blanket of sky above the forlorn, bare trees. But the sky was not to answer for all the story it had seen. It would continue to look away from what went on below the dark canopy. Where a rambling grifter took rest on the place Madison Rye was buried and how he never again stepped back out of the trees. The dogs and the dirt were hungry.

But no one would remember him. And the night stretched on and sometimes thoughts and people came to the dead woman under the earth. They visited like spectres; places, mouths, teeth, jokes, kisses, clothing, liquor, wood, melting wax, cigarette smoke. The blood of the man was the only abiding and resistant compound in the wicked alchemy of that place in the dark trees in the far out, never-never of a nowhere place. It filled her belly and in it life ran to her limbs.


A lone crow circled above and when it settled on the skeleton branch it let out a cry. The entire prairie filled with an expectant silence. A curling wave of quiet thundering to crash along the dust. The dogs reared and began to dig. To dig. To dig down.


Last edited by Madison Rye on Thu Jun 08, 2017 2:25 am; edited 1 time in total
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Madison Rye
Ancient Wyrm
Ancient Wyrm


Joined: 17 May 2009
Posts: 880
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13361.16 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Thu Jun 08, 2017 2:21 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Between the trees, light came in spears of grey. Spindle-branches reached into swollen fog and fat-bellied clouds. The sun was receding and soon all the light would be gone and the fog and the clouds would be only darkness. There would be little between herself and the night for she would be the night as she was after every dusk. She would be the thing that moved through the black in a skin that was slowly becoming more comfortable. The taste of the blood would linger for days, even when she went skinny with the hunger for it. When it was an unbearable ache, her mouth a bloodied rose, she would lay curled in the dirt and hold the carcass or wayfarer and cry and moan into their side and whisper an apology that sounded more like a growl.

She was existing in a language that defied description and it was a poetry of darkness in which she danced. There were no words that rang of sense and there was only more blood and more dirt in her misshapen claw-nails. The only concept beyond the iron and the salt of her hidden and terrifying existence was the motor oil smell she could scent on herself.

It was not possible for this revenant mind to process what it was that she was sensing with her nose and her mouth and the way it made her stomach lurch and clench tight as a rope constricting the throat. The way the man walked through her dreams and met her feral eyes without fear of the wild. The brutal. The savage. The animal. The man sometimes ran with her in similar skin and sometimes he even curled up with her post-kill and told her that it was okay by simply offering his presence.

But most nights there was only the lack of light and the dense line of the trees. She would watch the light reverse back through the branches until it was gone and as always she hoped that tonight he might visit the time her eyes closed.
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Dead Cowboy Blues
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 25, 2017 3:52 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

"You saw it where?"

"Over there, about twenty yards back."

"Take much?"

"A foal. Tore it to be ***."

"M'sorry."

"Why?"

"My responsibility."

"What you mean, man?"

Shifty leaned away from Eli and toyed with the unbraided end of the rope attached to the tractor set back a few feet behind him.

"I am meanin' to do away with it."

"Well, best you hurry. I ain't happy 'bout losin' my products. You know the hills well? Real deep."

"I know em like the way outta my worse dreams."

Eli pinned his chipped-mica eyes on the distance and thought of the spectral beast that preyed the fenceline just before the dawn. He thought of her paw prints in the blood on his hands. He thought of her, as she was before, naked in bath water, the water running through his hand, over her hair. Again and again and again. Water through his hand. Over her hair. The dark hair like a river down her back. Along her shoulder. God. God. There was no god. What was there? There was damnation and nothing much more. Just emptiness.

This was hell. He believed it to be so.

"I said, man, I got to get back to work. You okay, mister?"

But Eli's response was his shadow getting long behind him and making itself at home in the stain of night as he moved out along the weeds and into the thick of the open and angry and raw world out there where Madison was. Whatever that was.

"Hey, mister, you sure you don't wants an escort?"

Eli twitched the rifle in his fist to wave off the offer. He steeled himself and became the color of the night and the world beyond the fenceline. He walked in that peculiar matrimony of the unknown world and the intuitive mind. He walked along lines that he had no name for, much like that beast that haunted the woods miles ahead. He followed her as he always had. His only companion his whistle. Chirping in the dust and the dark until he was out of sight. Until the night swallowed sound too.
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