Fountain

I am an owner of a ruin bristling with potential. personified, with hope, with expectation Wasps and spiders and a bat dwell in my future home there are cracks in the wall and holes in the floorboards the roof tiles are mossy, the wood parched and peeling There is much to do and I am in a constant, low-grade panic my mind is at constant war with my heart I asked rhetorically, migod what have I done? and an old voice answered: you have chosen and that is something to talk loud about So here is my proclamation a whisper into the wind when I am dead the house will stand I will have left my children something to fight over I will have turned a ruin into a home with my blood my sweat my tears my euros and my eros I will have entered the dragons mouth and hopefully emerged a golden turd Thus I give to you my testimonial and I am my own mute witness my own second in this duel that will only end with the death of one or both of us Cold, deracinated, muteor dumb with laughter or sobs, a salt of the earth upon the slug of righteous intelligence My scars of saber wounds and bullets glow red in the night like embers on a scarecrow waiting for the wind to kick up and send it all back to hell in a blaze of flaming glory
27/09/2006