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ghostchild and golden monkey

For years I have been writing (sporadically) poems and prose around the concept of two anti-heroes, two semi-mythical beings superimposed on a dark, dark world. They stand, in eternal war, opposed to each other, corrupted by and corrupting of the world they inhabit. Blood, death, all the dark and all the light that humanity embodies; these are the currency of their dialogue, the shape of their conflict. Ghostchild is a child, ice and steel and death, unfeeling darkness astride a dark beast. Golden Monkey is the flashing sun, stained by cloud and rain and loss, fighting an ever lost war. Ghostchild and Golden Monkey.


monkey had gathered around him
a vast army of children
all the lost and misbegotten
the tragicly discarded
he gathered like robes
the purple flesh of the beaten
those sullen empty minds
beating like angry drums
the defeated and the shattered
the swollen meat
and the defiled with them
he arrayed himself
with the sneered upon
the raped and the pillaged
the choking children
shaking and scratching
the vacant and vacuous
monkey gathered from everywhere
every nook and cranny
every unturned stone
from the shadows and the brothels
from pits and shits and bottomless
he searched and promised
cajoled and threatened
brought the stinking vast forsaken
to fall at his knees
and he looked upon them
and he howled and capered
laughed and exhorted
and in darkness that followed
he cut their throats
and slit their wrists
and drained their sorrows
on sharpened sticks
and cried and wept
and snuffled
and in the darkness wondered


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