1-7-93 Monkey Sea Monkey Doom

Another day, incompletely wasted, slips right on by.  Time to switch medicines.  I hold and consume a totally new product and it tastes as old as the hills.  Or, grandpappy's hills, anyway.

And every day the world cries, "more."

   From door to door,
   in the small village,
   at the foot of our mountain,
   a search goes on.
            Each and every parishioner,
            is asked the same small questions,
            and until one speaks straight,
            and looks cockeyed,
            will the task remain.
   Only one is not concerned,
   I talked to him today,
   My nervousness was easy to spot,
   And his gentle chiding softened its edge.
             He is never afraid,
             my friend of the black hat,
             his smile remains, timeless,
             his strong heart does not skip,
             at the sound of approaching horses.
   Today they found their conspirator,
   as they had always planned.
   I saw the easer go easily,
   And he saw me,
   so he showed me the horrid hand,
   that destroyed our faith, our band.

Paul woke up in his book again, this time well into evening. His face was bisected by red lines matching the spiral binding of his work.  He looked to the words of the past night.  Once more he was concerned.  Trouble, only trouble.