The Mad Make For Unreliable Narrators
The Voyager Returns From A Thought

That I remained at the ends of the Earth long after it be-
came round owed to the fear that I'd still fall off. So I

lived with the citizens of the land, while two-wingèd
beasts lived off of me. In time, I could not perceive which

ones were which, and when the dæmons spoke, I revealed
their tongue, but the citizens claimed they could not see,

would not heed. Soon I was banished for seeing things un-
seeable, speaking tongues unspeakable and conjuring things

that never took shape. Thus, with an un-compassed eye, I
took the long voyage out. Only nobody warns when you

try to step off the face of the earth you are bound to fall
into the mouth of it. And there I remained, pushing as far

down into the belly as I could, but it would not have me, and
I was disgorged. Then, when the sea-vessel washed up on

shore I realized I was no less than two thousand years old,
and had become the house I disowned. The sacred monsters

still ruled, but welcomed me so. For they hardly knew me
again for my new beard of grass and my hair of black vines.

Sister and brother did not see me through my opium-words,
my kohl-farded eyes and flour-white face. For I was even a

stranger to myself. But I was like them, you see, to the extent
that I had been formed in their mold, their blood, their past.

So I regaled them with the bones of my tales all the while
knowing I'd leave them again. They laughed and claimed

my Dragons had died, so I feigned sanity too. But over their
shoulders, through glass window panes, I watched how the

dæmons still bedeviled the winds, and threatened to storm
the house in this head.

Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.

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