In a world of bloodied nightmares lit by a cold moon that doesn’t care enough to make it shine warmly is a big corn field next to the train tracks. In a dingy old blackened wooden house they live, the man and his three women. I came by their dwelling, intending only to pass by but was caught by their midnight adventures.

I saw the three of them crawl on their stomachs, their backs, one different than the other, all with toothy grins and mischief. Off they went into those fields, each leaving behind a cursed jumble of words to hide them, ever expanding under the moonlight. I told you, the moon was cold, for it had stopped caring about the country beneath it where I was. So I had no help there, the stars were out too, but they didn’t care enough to sparkle, they’d lost all of that in eons past. Sort of like children who grew up and realized that they weren’t special. I wanted to scream at all of them that they were stars, that they could still shine, but they ignored me. Typical.

So I turned my attention down again to the fetid stinking earth and mud puddles. Endless apples rotting in their many orchards, their old horse dead yet again from a shot in the head. Lazy git. He should be made into a coat for the ladies, maybe to keep them from freezing in the cold. Because a cold night it was, I thought to myself, maybe I think it now. These tenses vex me, maybe they annoy me too. There when how where? I’m just here now. I spy them still going. So I follow one of the serpentine and constantly undulating trails of the cursed women that goes around and off and to and between all the trees to lure him into one confusing alternative after another. They’re all whispered words, so when you read them, you must hear them correctly with your mind’s voice, it must be the hurried tone of a haughty woman who tells herself a mean secret, she does it with disdain and humor, because she’s making great comedy and sport to herself as she lays the word behind her in the grass to give him a sense of direction. To follow her trail, she undulates through the fields she pushes down with her body, it is to simultaneously read what she says, which is rather exhausting. Yet we shall try for the sake of the narrative:

Oh-Watch-The-Slowenly-Man-Upon-His-Kitchen-Where-He-Sits-Idle-His-Cock-Flaccid-And-Impotent-He-Knows-Not-My-Chain-Of-Mischief-That-Springs-From-My-Loins-And-My-Mind-For-He-Has-Not-The-Imagination-Nor-Wit-To-Find-Me-Perhaps-He-Shall-If-I-Merely-Space-Myself-A-Bit-More-Past-The-Frog-On-The-Stump-Around-The-Bend-Of-The-Trains-And-Through-The-Narrow-Drainage-Tunnel-He-Must-Surely-Fail-Here-Oh-I-Needest-My-Rest-A-Woman-Can-Only-Get-So-Excited-Before-She-Needs-To-Frig-Herself-Vigorously-Upon-The-Dreams-That-He-Might-Choose-The-Right-Trail-This-Night-And-Take-Her-As-She-Wants-IT!-Oh-Watch-My-Prose-Confuse-You-Manchild-Tread-Not-In-The-Trap-I-Set-For-You-

And here her prose started going around in a narrowing circle, she was crafty that way:

(Editor’s note: Beneath this line is the spoilered text if someone has trouble reading it)

Round-We-Go-Confused-Man-Your-Dick-Hard-And-Red-And-Shining-And-Maybe-Upon-The-Third-Revolution-Will-You-Lose-Your-Way-And-Confuse-Me-For-My-Sister-Mary-Who-Likes-It-Up-The-Arse-I-Will-Pretend-To-Scream-And-You-Will-Smile-Cruelly-And-Release-But-Then-I-Will-Frig-Myself-And-Cum-With-You-Making-You-Regret-It-While-You-Stab-Me-As-Always!-Oh-How-I-wish-You-Would-Do-It-In-The-Right-Spot-But-Your-Cursed-Aim-Lands-Your-Blade-To-The-Right-Of-My-Neck-Instead-To-The-Left-You-Fool-Of-A-Man-Your-Blighted-Cock-

And then in the middle of the great circle of words, I found her resting and panting, obviously satisfied with herself. Her blighted body and white porous skin shining in the cold moonlight as she tried to make herself look alluring to me. I asked her why she would do this, she told me that she and her fellow Wives had the same sport each magical night. The one who lured him to her would have her fill of death and pain as she lusted for it. Then come morning, it would be the silence of the grave until the next full moons midnight where they would play again. I asked her if it would not simply be easier to just fuck perhaps? Join together in the original way intended? She made big eyes, called me an uncouth youth and flashed me her ass as she burrowed below the ground to get away from me. Her words that glistened in the moonlight behind her were less poetic now that she was offended.

I crossed over the train tracks after watching the dead train come by, it wasn’t dead yet of course, but it probably would be someday considering how it looked all sickly like that. I told it to have some vitamins, it shot steam at me which I ignored since it smelled of old wars and sulfur. You see dear reader, I never did care for it, the wars I mean. Noisy and loud and so petty always. A woman there, maybe resources there, and the worst ones by the folly of the wrong instructions in a mind confined to the third dimension senses. To think what god thinks, to be what gods wants, but who is god and what does it want and how does that make you shoot your neighbor for that reason?

Better yet to shoot the god, facetious things, fickle and narrow and flitting like orbital cancers in the meadows of cosmos. I shall write the ministry to ask them to be outlawed in this sector of reality, maybe I shall get another medal for it. Perhaps.

I found the second wife hiding inside an ancient log, one of her feet was sticking out of a hole in a funny way, I realized that it was broken, which of course was made apparent by her winding prose all over the countryside that told him (potentially, should he follow her that is) that she expected him to finish early upon learning that she broke it herself to make him aroused because she knew he was also sensually stimulated by internal bleeding and ankles swollen with blood like balloons.

I’m sorry for my disjointed joined words, their strange shapes addles the mind like the finest poisoned morphine sometimes. Degrees by green and grass and cucumbers in the morning. Fresh I say, only then they go on my sandwich.

But I start over then: These Wives really are the most indecent ones. I leaned down and talked into the hole and her head popped out on the opposite to greet me. When I asked her why they would use words as vehicles to travel the countryside and leave behind a trail for him to follow, she remarked that I should mind my own business, but that they were doing it to teach him better how to read!

Of course I felt foolish readers, all of you, know it, I felt it, foolishness. Obvious to you maybe, but to me this was all just a mystery in the cold moon’s light, damn you moon to hell, tartarus, the underworld, lake of fire, etc etc, I do not care to be detailed with you anyway you dumb egotistical ball! Maybe one night it’ll have enough care to be warm so that I’m not freezing like this. Anyway, more apologies, my words get delayed when my fingers get cold. But I did feel foolish because I realized that they were not victims, they were his loving captors. Him, a murderous, lecherous fiend who would seek the outlet for his perverse fantasies across the land was here, always here following their paths because they willed it so. Thinking with his smaller head, that is to say his cock, he would blindly follow their paths, chancing upon one after the other and then delighting in the bloodied cruel end.

But it was really them that were mostly delighting in it, teaching him to be a gentler man perhaps. Of course I could have chosen to tell him, but maybe then his blade would cleave my neck as well and I cared not for that model of reassembly afterwards. I’m usually too lazy for resurrection, which annoys my friends greatly. No, I cannot attend your cursed black banquet tonight, I’m Dead, AGAIN! (Ironic laughter goes here)

I nodded at myself as I ascended from the bench in slow motion, deliberately, to show how cultivated I was, how utterly contemptuous I was for gravity that thought itself better than everyone because it could push and pull and circle around the planets. A mere parlor trick!

If you could have seen me then, maybe now then yesterday? In ancient times? Five seconds ago of course! As I rose slower and slower so gracefully, you’d see me get onto my feet and then flash you that winning smile. A Slave To Gravity I Am Not!

Nevertheless, I left for the bigger lake, musing to myself that perhaps even a crazed demon such as the Wives Husband might be made a gentleman one day who would be fit to attend tea parties. As I briskly pace, I try and see what my faint moon-dial reads, it must be late-early at this rate. No, it reads 3:13, good numbers all, but not in this configuration. I decide to wake up which cuts off my narra-