Darkly

Coda:  
     
For now we look through a glass..    
     
..    
     
Autumn holds sway, 1997    
     
Fast. He’s too fast.    
     
5’8” of lean muscles and sinews. He grits his teeth. His smile is wry and folds the flesh of his cheeks.      
     
He descends from the outer circle. He strikes in flurries. He dares the inner circle for only moments. Tags me over and over. My reach is longer, but he darts in and out. His legs lean and packed with fluid musculature.      
     
6’2” of layered fat over muscle. He’s a warrior fighting a dragon.    
     
Outer circle. Inner circle. His feet find the proper placement on this chessboard. His blows barely penetrate my scales. Stings of pain infuriate me. I struggle to hold my focus. Forearms tight to center. I can take the body shots. He’s trying to open my guard. My throat and solar plexus are his real targets. He has to exhaust my airways. He has to make me breathe flame before I can lower his shield.    
     
Or he’s finished.    
     
Don’t fly into rage. He’s trying to exhaust you.    
     
Arms are burning from hits. Sides are groaning.    
     
Wait. Wait for it.    
     
I’ve been following. He’s been retreating. I stop. I step back as he dances closer. He loses a step, overextends. I step forward with the blows, turn my hips. His arms fly to guard fast. Too fast. He takes a few in the forearms. I widen my target. He takes them in the shoulders, in the sides. I feel his body giving way beneath the sheer force of my blows. I feel electromagnetic bonds part. I feel voids flooding into gaps of light.    
     
He smiles as he retreats. Teeth clenched harder. He’s shaking with pain and rage. He’s hurt but he’s far from done. He came through that on sheer will.    
     
Caps are peeled back from both our knuckles. The others are laughing, mostly ignoring us. I get sprayed with a cold beer I hardly notice. Eyes focused on target.      
     
He lowers his arms. Feet come to rest. He smiles. I feel the warmth of his light. I smile, too.    
     
Alright, old friend. Let’s take a breather.    
     
..    
     
Winter breathes into Spring, 2018    
(Intermezzo)    
     
Tangle and sinews of    
Root    
Maze of bone    
Aqueduct spillways    
Within    
Rivers of    
Watercolors    
     
A lone bird    
Grasps a narrow    
Branch    
Pinioned    
Shoulders    
Hunched    
Against the    
Wind    
Leaves fall from    
Brown    
Branches in    
Greens and    
Yellows    
Nightshade    
In the thicket    
Sunlight    
Shadows    
On the bark    
     
Rust brown waters of    
Impermanence    
Mirror    
The damp and rotten    
Husks of the    
Ortega docks    
In this wavering image    
Find its truth    
A broken chain    
Dangles    
Like unkempt hair    
Dark mussel shells    
Brood    
Beneath the surface    
Of the waters    
     
     
..    
     
Spring sprints toward Summer, 2009    
     
I can barely hear her over things crashing, breaking. All I know is that something terrible is happening. I get in my car and head up to the highway. I race south on I95 about 95 miles an hour, zipping around cars. I get to their apartment and I can hear the screaming from the parking lot. His voice is nothing short of monstrous.    
     
The door is ajar. I step inside. She’s huddled in a corner in a crouch, facing away, still clutching the phone to her breast. The room has been struck by a hurricane that was my friend. Every possible thing is strewn about, broken, the fish tank is pouring water from a gouge onto the floor. He is moving fast. Impossibly fast. His voice is shattering the air with unintelligible screams. Profanity of every sort.    
     
I go around him and straight to her. She startles as if electrocuted as my arm circles her. I lift and she comes to her feet. We walk toward the door, along the opposite wall.    
     
He stops, goes rigid. He has noticed me and what is happening.    
     
I fix my eyes on hers. She is terrified, her face is half swollen and impossibly purple red. One eye swollen half shut.    
     
I tell her in a hard, sober voice. Don’t look at him. Go. Go sit in my car. Go right now.    
     
She walks by sheer force toward the door. Rigid as a marionette.    
     
He watches her. Looks to me. His eyes are flames that have cooled just a moment to fill with pain. There is betrayal in his looks. His eyes say, You’re with her? He looks like a puppy again, for just a moment.    
     
He flies at me. I brace. His blows rain down. I guard myself. He’s so fast. His punches are harder than anything I have experienced from him. I am soaked with pain. I step back, back, back. I hit the wall with such force it cracks and I half sit in a cavity in the drywall as the punches fall endlessly. Guard my solar plexus, guard my face, guard my neck. Don’t strike back. I can take it.    
     
..    
     
Winter, 2018    
     
Ropes tether the    
Tugboat    
To the wharf    
Sag at the    
Center, into    
Waters, green    
With algae    
Sun and    
Time    
Stain    
The whole    
     
Spinal    
Comb    
Staff of caged    
Ribs    
Palatial    
Conch    
Apexed    
Proportionally    
Dripping shadows of    
Purple    
     
Mummified remains    
Encased    
In glass    
Vitruvian man of    
Naked musculature    
Stands out in    
Bands of    
Red    
Cracked skull of    
Bison    
Peacock’s plumage at    
Rest    
In spiraled    
Gown    
Scarab beetles are winged    
Jewels    
Jutting spires of white    
Crystal    
Colorful    
Shells    
Gathered from the    
Shores of the    
Sea    
Placed in delicate    
Reverie    
     
..    
     
Summer wavers in the air, 1994    
     
The heat of the day has driven us like animals to the canal, to enjoy the cool waters. A huge semi tire hangs from a knot of thick rope, tied to a tall and thick tree branch that extends well over the water. Just he and I, spending the day together. He leaps, catches several feet of air, manages to get an arm through and grasp the tire, which catches the momentum of his lunatic flight and soars through the air, begins to twist and turn. He manages to get a leg through before the centrifugal motion throws his torso back. Now, dangling from a leg as the tire swing twists in a tightening circle, gaining momentum.    
     
I laugh until I lose my breath. I feel my face turning twenty shades of purple and red. My knees buckle and I fall to them. I suck in a little air to continue this agonizing compulsive laugh as the force finally dislodges him and he falls into the waters with a very audible crash. In a few moments, he bursts through the surface. He looks at me and laughs. I do the same. And so we stay that way for long moments.      
     
Time passes. Others arrive. 3 men and two women. The girls and two of the young men are around our age. Dressed in the fashion of the locals here in the dirty south. One man is older. Features, rough and sunburned, tell me he is the father of at least one young man, who resembles him and also sports his carrot top.    
     
We are drying our shirts in the sunlight. The redheaded young man approaches. His friend trails behind automatically. He accuses my friend of having jumped him in high school. My friend is calm, but ready, his muscles stand out slightly, his feet parted. The redhead swings, elbow out and wide, no real force, my friend dips his head back half an inch and the fist slides by without connection. He doesn’t even skip a beat as he tells this young man that he doesn’t want any trouble. The redhead isn’t hearing him. They fall to blows.      
     
..    
     
Winter, 2018    
     
Yellowed shells    
Gathered into wire    
Bins    
Labeled with    
Arbitrary tags of    
Worth, for sale    
A lone    
Spider    
Rests    
In sublime    
Obliviousness    
     
The spondylus    
Drags closed it’s    
Ravined    
Mouth    
Rings of    
Autumnal    
Red    
Stripe it’s    
Shell    
Sprouting fingers of    
Calcium, to beat    
Back the turgid    
World    
     
Glass of    
Intricate    
Carvings    
Rabbit at rest    
Appears    
Ready    
To pounce    
Geese that could be in    
Water, atop a bowl    
Cerulean    
Vase    
Holds the    
Songs    
Of the    
Sea    
     
..    
     
Winter stands with feet planted in either year, 2005    
     
New Year’s Eve. Three day cocaine binge. Cocaine for breakfast. Cocaine for lunch. Cocaine for dinner. Cocaine every hour in between. Our dealer is making three visits a day. That mother fucker is always happy to see us. I try to burn out the heartbreak. I try to burn out my mind. I try to burn out.    
     
I am with my friend. He knows. He understands. Every line, he does with me. Every rail. He insists we smoke pot, “to even things out.”    
     
He keeps me occupied. We play video games. We go joy riding. He clutches to the interior of the car as I drive 90 mph down the highway in the middle of the night, smashing my head up and down to Pantera, Sepultura and Soulfly. We drink tequila and listen to Sublime. We sing. We laugh. I cry. He stays by my side.    
     
..    
     
Winter, 2018    
     
Flowers of    
Lush    
Almond    
Browns and    
Onion    
Purples    
Mouths    
Pursed    
Into kisses of    
Delicious    
Invitation    
     
Spheres of color    
Adorned    
Glass, splashed    
With perfect    
Coalescent    
Artistry    
Empyrean    
Blue    
Ambers of held    
Breath    
Sun scorch    
Yellow    
Crimson in    
Folds of    
Lovers    
Flushed    
Flesh    
Spirals of    
Endless    
Light    
     
..    
     
Autumn, 1997    
     
The night is washing out into approaching daylight. The others are passed out or have left. We’re the only ones left on our feet. We sing our favorite song, Watching Over Me by Iced Earth. We sing and laugh. It is just the two of us.    
     
I see the pilot light click on in his eyes. I tense and then loosen. We smile and we turn in slow circles. So we both endured the night of partying. So it’s just the two of us.    
     
He surprises me by staying in close, staying inside, staying low. My blows are falling into the center of his back. I feel the concussions rocking him like bombs. He’s striking at my thighs. The muscles suddenly knot. It is agony.      
     
He falls forward. I fall back. My leg is screaming but I stand. He rolls away and stands. He is breathing fire from the agony. Breaths ragged. His eyes are wide, searching, saying,    
     
Strong. He’s too strong.    
     
I raise and lower the leg, slightly, pressing down. Whatever he accomplished there, it has hurt me, limited my range of motion. I step anyway, side, forward, side, back. I let the agony pass through me and over me. A few deep breaths and he is back on the attack.    
     
I can’t believe it, but he goes right back in for the legs. He’s so low that my blows from above are losing force, but still I bring my fists down on his back, solid blows that make his body give beneath them. He is lean, sinew, muscle and bone. His blows are glancing as I step back, turn, angle my knee in, but the hits I am taking to the root of my knee are now agonizing. I see blazes of white light in my vision, which shrinks slightly to a tunnel.    
     
I have had enough of this. Rage seizes hold of me. I seize hold of him. Leaning down, around the torso, trapping his right arm, I lift him upside down and with all my might, I squeeze. I feel the bones of his rib cage pressed against my arms, my chest. He sucks in with panic but can barely draw a breath. One arm grabs my leg around, with lunatic strength, pulls a foot right out from under me, we fall back. I maintain my death grip a long moment as he strikes ineffectually and flails arm and legs, before releasing.    
     
He rolls aside, to his knees. I do the same. We kneel there, before each other, sucking breaths.    
     
The rage ebbs. A few deep breaths and he calms as well. I drop back into a seated position.    
     
I smile. He smiles. I laugh. He laughs.    
     
He walks on his knees to the couch, leans against it. I lay back.    
     
The sun rises.    
     
..    
     
Winter, 2018    
     
White sky, green    
Foliage, reflect off the    
Chrome    
Carapace of    
Grumbling    
Motorcycles    
Steel    
Bones    
Glass    
Mirrors    
Pneumatic    
Musculature    
Promethean    
Spark    
Blood of    
Ink    
     
57’ Chevy headlights    
Shine, eyes    
Mournful    
Grill    
Frowns in    
Distance of    
Recollection    
Of its    
Prime    
Old Man Bel Air    
     
..    
     
Spring, 2009    
     
His fists are fires that beat at me relentlessly and seem to be coming from everywhere, all sides. I can hardly protect my core, I’m being battered everywhere. Arms up in guard, fists balled, my fear is held in a sphere at the center of my abdomen. I hold it into a confined space.    
     
I don’t know how he can continue like this. All I know is I can take it.    
     
Eventually, blessedly, he just collapses against me. All the strength goes out of him. My arms are so tired and in so much pain, but I put them around him somehow. I am pain drunk and cannot really feel anything. We both drop to our knees and I hold him. His arms flow around me and his sobs are more frightening than anything yet, coming from the utter core of his being. He is weeping so hard his body is wracked. I summon the strength to squeeze him. Somehow, have to hold him together through this second storm.    
     
Moments stretch into an ocean of time. First in the firestorm, now in this shattered ruin, beset by his tornadic sobs. Stinking water from the fish tank is everywhere.    
     
Eventually, a calm comes over him. He just seems tired now. Numb and tired. I am feeling that, too.    
     
He tells me that she had cheated on him. When he found out, he broke up with her. Upon returning today to gather his things, she had told him that she was pregnant. Was pregnant. She told him not to leave her, to forgive her, or he would be sorry. She had an abortion. She aborted their child. When she had said something to the effect of, Well, it might have been his child, that was when he lost it.    
     
I go outside as he starts to sort of listlessly move things around, gathering the desolation of their home against the walls, into piles. She’s not in the car. She’s not answering her phone. It would be a long time before either of us saw her again.    
     
..    
     
Winter, 2018    
     
P40    
Silver    
Blue    
Flew in    
42    
Hull    
Shining like the    
Sky    
Gleaming like    
Diamonds    
On the    
Tarmac, which has faded    
To gray from    
Black    
Faded into    
Dusk    
     
Talismans of bone and    
Jade, carved into    
Ferocious    
Faces, palms    
Pressed in    
Postured    
Peace    
Scaled fish    
Mouth offering    
Coin, eyes of    
Marbled    
Obliviousness    
     
..    
     
Summer, 1994    
     
My friend gets inside, close, where his opponent’s wild swings deflect harmlessly off his shoulders and the sides of his head. The redhead’s compatriot jumps on my friend’s back. The older man, whom I assume is the young man’s father, peels him off like a tick, turns him round and fixes him with a stern gaze, saying, One on one. That’s how we fight.    
     
He tears himself loose, steps back saying as he turns to me, Fine, then I’ll take fat ass here.    
     
He steps up and turns to the side as he lets fly a right. I turn to my left and it glides by. Step forward, into him with my strikes, which hammer his head left and right, reminiscent of a speed bag, which I had never struck, before this moment. I must’ve hit him half a dozen times but I am pretty sure he was done by punch number three or four. Guy just wasn’t guarding himself, hadn’t steeled and somewhat loosed himself, wasn’t ready. I almost walk over him as he drops.    
     
My friend has beaten his quarry straight backwards, hand on his shirt, right fist just hammering a nail into his face, which is now redder than his head and resembles a pizza. Guy falls straight back into the canal and then, in a moment I will never forget and always hold in great respect, he stops, waits as the redhead rights himself and then extends a hand, helping him to exit the water.    
     
Redhead spits to the side, spits again, he’s full of blood but he nods his head up and down. He’s saying, Alright, alright. It’s over. My friend has no argument with this, as he had none in the first place. Just went to work because he had to. Mr jump on his back, gonna take fat ass is not looking terribly coherent so I don’t offer to help him up. I just get in the car and start it up. My friend comes round the passenger side and gets in. He twirls his finger in the air, the way he always signals, Let’s bounce.    
     
And bounce, we do.    
     
..    
     
Winter, 2018    
     
Tulips ignite    
In silken    
Fires of    
Illumination    
Fountainheads of    
Perfectly    
Coalesced    
Colors    
     
Phalaenopsis    
Wings of shadowed    
Gold, central    
Buds    
Lusting    
Lips of    
Cherry    
     
Bromeliad    
In curly    
Cues    
Of bursting    
Canvas    
Manifesting    
God    
     
..    
     
Winter, 2005    
     
I am standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Every cell in my body is convulsing, but somehow I am still standing. Still looking myself in the face. I do not recognize myself. I do not know who is looking back at me. He knocks. I do not answer. He calls for me. I do not answer. He tries the doorknob. Again, more forcefully.      
     
Two kicks and it just gives in. The frame strikes me in the back. I barely notice.    
     
He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders.    
     
I am convulsing from head to toe. He is hanging on. His arms are strong, fastened about me.    
     
We stand there, like that.    
     
In time. I calm.      
     
..    
     
Proem:    
     
..But now, face to face    
     
..    
     
Darkly    
By    
Daniel Christensen    
Writing as    
The Fire Elemental    
     
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there." Rumi