The Prodigal Son (2/5) By Joe Hakim

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5).

wide open space/ sun burning my face/ feel giddy in the rays of light/ the cling-film pulled down over my eyes/ to screen me from the evil all around me/ must be pure/ must maintain the façade/ and fit in with the insects/ the worker bees and the soldier ants/ obey the call of the normal/ the programmed people salty fingers rammed down throat/ exorcise the chemicals before they take effect/ before they numb the parts that are so crucial/ in the struggle/ bile comes first/ heat on the back of my neck as the coffee and toast and pills come back up/ partially digested on the pavement/ see the tablets for what they really are/

little machines/ invaders of my soul/ but they're gone for now/ need to make use of the freedom/ things to be done/ preparation for the endgame waiting for the bus/ need to change the frequency/ receiving signals from the other passengers/ interference, their thoughts and voices like static/ bus shudders as it pulls away from the curb/ too late now/ the journey has begun/ shrink down into my seat/ let it swallow me/ breathing is irregular/ why do i panic?/ why do i panic now?

peasant chariot/ distorted faces and secrets clamouring for escape/ mouths like open wounds/ information oozing out like white blood-cells attacking an infection/ see reflections in the windows/ can i make out a message?/ decode/ ingest/ there's something after me/ something caught in the fabric between this life and the other/ no rest for the wicked/ keep it together/ for ever and ever/ the outline men are here now/ trapped in the glass/ like a pressed butterfly on a tapestry/ reconnaissance for the invasion/ while I suffer the burden of being the only who knows to my left a young mother strokes the head of her child/ they're all target now/ my obligation is a terrible one/

i'm alone/ i must be the one who repels/ the first pocket of resistance/ they're taunting me/ the outline men want me to react/ they want me to explode and blow my cover/ because they know i will be locked up/ a danger to society/ so they speak like broken televisions/ all at the same time/ filth in my ears and in my mind/ they are putting it there all the time/ planted like crooked evidence

when the bus pulls up/ i escape/ buying time to think and plan my next move/ have to go to the dole office/ sign myself away/ for a cheque that will let me eat/ for the next week at least/ if only they knew the extent/ of the ways my existence is bent/ towards my mission/ like a dandelion leaning towards the sun/ maybe one day history will regard me as i am/ when the full story finally emerges/ and people see the danger we were in spot one of them in the queue/ dressed as a man/ but i know him for what he is/ not real/ just a collection of stray atoms and matter held in place by an energy field/ you could put your hand through him/ an electric ghost/

beamed from a tear in the fabric of space by the side of the moon/ the place where they bleed into our dimension/ he's a spy/ the first of many/ projected across great distance like light hitting a cinema screen/ looks so real but he's just a special effect/ he knows i'm looking/ he knows i'm onto him/ but there's nothing either of us can do/ this war is fought on a battlefield that only exists in the minds of the warriors

Continued...Next Page (3/5)

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