Dolls and empty roads

 My head is heavy so i lob it forward to drag the rest of my body.

The gutters of both sides of the road are full of dolls that look like me.

Is this my voodoo freeway, divine limbo in judgement imposed on me.

I continue forward no visible cars or people just the sounds of rattling dolls
and my own quiet footsteps.

The crossroads are empty up head as i come upon them I have no notion where to go.

I keep walking legs humming, brain an audience of voices on a lonely desolate road
of abandoned dolls.

Eihwaz Kenaz Fehu

 The rune for digging below.
Endurance, transformation, connection
To find the hidden water.
The creativity to use this water.

The Rune of illumination, knowledge, skill
Craftmanship and clarity.
To bring what has never existed into the light.
As if it was there from the start.

Abundance, manifestation and vital energy.
Effort bears rewards in many forms.
Each powerful and sustaining.

The ten heads of my past life

Ten heads, each holding a different life,
One of my faces on each 
Each with a small light inside it
Burning from eyes and mouth

 A candelabrum of memory
That transforms into the modern version of me
 A hydra of time
That finds a moment of presence inside me

 where every head carries its own era

It's own haunting surreal landscape and voice

One might know the Fen mud

another a dockside in Limehouse

A field growing somewhere in imagination

Lights are experiences burning inside it

Fenhound at Denver sluice(Ghostlight on the fens series) 1713

 A low thick rock wall followed the waterway flush
Smooth flat flowing water eventually out to the wash
Other side of the stone wall a trail between villages narrow but good
made up of stones and pebbles lined with guelder rose and dogwood

The tide could be felt there at the sluice the coast still thirty miles 
So villages near king's lynn got brackish water and thirsty smiles
That week before nightfall there was long calm warm afternoons
couples sat on the wall to enjoy last light before the pale moon

Two of these couples witnessed a huge dog hours before the storm
Matted thick furr, glowing eyes and ears that curled like horns
The experience left the couples terrorfied and sleepless that night
Causing hysteria in humble residents local now a source of fright

Parallel to the unease storms began coming up from the south
The fenhound sighting a bad omen of tragedy or ill health
The great ouse was absorbing storm rains sending floodwater forth 
Seven days from sighting sluice gates broke with incredible force

Lowland homesteads and habitations were completely flattened
Omen of the fenhound punishing both hedgedweller and aristocrat

“We were checking the sluice gates when a shadow moved across the embankment. It was vast, black, and low, with eyes like faint coals glimmering through the fog. It walked as if it had weight, but no sound came from its paws. The water hissed and rippled, though the wind was still. Some say it was the spirit of the fen itself, some say a dog of the damned.”

Vermuyden's fear of water

Cornelius visualized the lines he would cut across the Fens swamp
Like roads inside his mind, same ditches he cut in land so damp
Now he was cutting like a man obsessed into Welny deep and long
Toward the lower great Ouse where the silver eel belongs

Slowly the old Fens lands were being drained 
The peat was the fuel the canal a sacred vein
These ideas through his head minutes before sleep
As he slept the humid air rose from bog deep

Night tangled with thin lines of sweat making him shiver
Carving across his face like his new trench rivers
dampening his pillow soaking his dream
Like the Old bedford steam

Imagining himself descending from the overrig
Found himself in a golden afternoon on the dig
something clamped down on him and wrangled
he looked down a giant eel bit into his ankle

He woke, morning already through the tent
Supervised the dig with the drudges he sent
He stayed far from the water watching, feeling fearful
A whirl of a ripple on the surface he became careful

A long black shape reeled up in the water, bit a worker's face off
Vermuyden screamed the line of labourers jumped out of the trough
He ordered the grunts to reassemble his tent on higher ground
Cornelius never lost his fear of water, never again slept sound

A mouth full in the dark

 The large form looms in the darkness of another dimension
In the dark world's center where the ground is like mirror
It's a small pink creature serpentine and messy
it flips and grows distorts and comes back to it's form

It curves itself around to form words
No voice box to create the sound from

It flattens itself out to taste food
No teeth to break down the matter

What it really wants is another tongue to wrap itself around
No lips to join opposing ones fusing the desire to meet

But for now it remains a tongue
Growing disporportionately in the darkness

The previous owner

 His tattoo said highway 44 bar on his left arm
A drink in his front words full of charm
on the other arm a local girl mute and calm
He spoke louder than the other patrons
Even the charismatic fat ones
Who were much drunker
His words were loud lousy junk

Exaggerating his victories
Spread lies and attempted trickery
The man swayed then delivered his last boast
Bowed like a king lifted glass in his last toast
On his way out he said he had sold the bar
To road trip in his favorite muscle car
Then made his exit like a super star

He left the pub and whispers became queries
Patron's asked restlessly curiosity flaring
Was he the owner drunk and endearing?
Server laughed under his breath swearing.
He's not the owner, he's just drunk terry!
-What about the tat and tales we've been hearing?
It's only ostentatious ink on a dishonest drinker