TEMPLE HQ

THIS DREAM AGAIN, DEJA VU!

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11-20-2021

Orange paneling golden wood perching on vermillion carpet overlooking vaulted windows paned against the horrid day, sky leering through the clouds at the vestige of the old world, the prince returned to the womb.

Sickly light of cloudy day dawn, where grey skies turn autumn morning putrid and stale, air suspending dust like a sandstorm frozen in a single moment, the atmosphere more time than oxygen.

Ancient paper, leatherbound books with pages that crumple to nothing at the touch.

Coat of arms faded, paint splintering into thick air until we can’t remember anything except the metal hanging over the facade.

The prince and his ancestors, incestuous in a retread of old victories, old glories, his living souls suspended in the past like insects trapped in amber.

An old house held up by the density of near-unbreathable air, old servants animated by the same occult plasma as ghosts.

Ruffed collar stained with vomit. Doctors biting their tongue on an opinion the patient won’t take, stiffen your back and walk away to let them lie in the bed they make.

Habsburg Jaw, bleeding, sobbing, stifled. Rusted swords dueling in imitation with hangers-on towards slipping-away. Trying to preserve something undefinable, something already lost.