I Start

Written by Ian Aleksander Adams on November 8, 2012
Arranged by Chris Barker on November 8, 2012
Published in Issue 003

I start in the-the-
"the world"
but, in a just-
wrong...too shiny.

Corporate school suits,
and too many card checks,
more checks,
too many checks and no shadows,
but all darkness (and after dark).

When the classes are over,
when I have to go back
for the glasses I left on the desk,
when I ran away from a
"bad class,"
I cried.
And i tried to speak,
but i've never been good at speak,
and the other children know!!

I'm a bad thing without hair,
but my teeth keep falling out,
and they look, like, deep fried.
One is stuck and the others come out-
and then I get in trouble for a bad scan,
and they say,
"you were weird!"
"you were weird and gross,
but you are not even human!"
and they call me a thing I will never understand,
but I know is a terrible thing.

and have to start running away-
and fall through wall and hole,
and wake up-
in another land,
in the land casting long shadows.

I see an axe,
and I think,
"an old familiar friend!"
and it scares me.
I pick it up,
but then the things are there-
and I look down and I am a
(I think),
and they are not thinking,
but I think.

I feel my gums and the teeth are not there.
No holes, just not there.
I was born with no teeth,
but-my familiar friend-
something is jammed!

The tooth that would not come out,
it is a rusty thing, a "bolt"
(a metal bolt- a key?).

I remember only the fear.

I put the key back in my hole.
I am naked, I am not hungry,
but I am.

Scare all the things I see,
one a lifeless thing-
it knows I move, and it is hungry,
but only hungry.

It is a world where it happened,
and by some terrible, I was born after.
Had a brain.
Others were born after,
but are terrible things!

I have to put everyone to rest.
I have to chop all the necks.
I know, deep inside,
there are even bigger terrible things-
and I am just a naked baby,
with too big a head,
in a field of scattered blades
and the odd,
grasping mouth.

I have nothing-
no organs,
but sticky big hands and sinewy muscle-
nothing to make new me,
no desire to consume.

My mouth-
just a vestige, and I surprise myself
with a sad moan
and the nearest mouth bites out
towards me.

Appendages too weak.
To drag itself closer, I end it at the neck-
that's my grim task.

How did I get to the other world?
Was it all a fantasy of my insane, tired?
Is there another me,
in a place where things are still alive?
Is there a way back?

Or, how to wake both worlds
from this terrible dream-
epic, dark adventure?
stealth and action?
places to hide?

Because roving groups still exist.
But also,
little "safe" places I have built,
over the millennia,
but why have I lost my know-
have I so many times?

I chop a few dangling necks
on the way to the next house,
startled by figures in it.

But they are chopped,
and it is mine.
I call me "Plato" in my scribblings on the shed,
like safe structures,
all with holes in the upper walls,
so I can crawl up to the roof
when the packs come-
when they stick their hands under
the badly constructed walls,
to look for me.

Hands, then heads-
they always come like that.
They can't learn from the others.
They stick the heads,
and then I chop, old friend.

I think I call me "Plato."