the forgetful idleness of my heart

sleep
throwing knives, the metal handle type, at a girl, i throw one; hard enough to circumcise a tree. the dark tip rebounds off her head and into a table. she laughs at my insecurities.
they came to take her. she told me to lock the door, forgetfulness the idleness of the heart. he came bursting in like an eyeball through a sleeve: the hairy wolf.

i was and am him.

waiting at the waters epicentre; on a type rope of wood, laying about with friends. although sharks come intermittently with their tight nit group of innumerable friends: teeth. i gaze about in wonder to the black stump of my arm. don’t worry, don’t have a psychotic episode the world is only made of 70% water and there are so many things that we don’t know of that reside in the depths of its lashing heart.
i will just restart and try again, after fifteen of these similar, regrowth phantom limbs i run to the shore.
why?
after the hairy wolf.
his face: gaunt, porcelain and sharp, like a reincarnated junky, although the person has only ever been born and will only ever be born a junky. sunken eyes, like golf balls that have hit home, cheekbones being the most prominent feature.
he begins to distend and regurgitate.
i do the same, but i have doubt, can i defeat him?
i believe i must have for now i am in the bar.
the wolf is inside, although he has transmogrified to his human form.
i sit he goes.
Where?
the man next to me, dying of the slack jawed alcoholism, that affects us all at one time, but he has been doing it for 40 of his 32 years of life, his teeth have become cigarettes and he talks to me of the philosophies of life, while i listen to the lawnmower in my heart.
he tells me the pain of the wolf.
i sit creasing the paper of my mind into involuntary sculptures of Brassai.
i am thrusted outside.
facing the wolf again.
doubt rises through me like the howling of Dresden.
i can summon this but can i sedate it.
we must fight again and we do.
i end up at home, frothing from the tortures of my now reticent mind.
she is with me and we, i mean, i have locked up.
the forgetful idleness of my heart.

The knife rebounds, table wood.
She is beautiful, shaved scalp, sharp innocent features.
I am done, for the wolf has come back.
I find a gun of acid. I pour the majority of it on the wolf.
Not enough on the innocent beauty.

I have failed and I will be left behind.