Bobabilcon

[J Hillenburg]

Bobabilicon, jolly old demon soul, the grin on your face,

the avarice of your form, I wonder if you dreamed

of death? What ghosts accompanied you? They stretched in

suffering, inverted angles held them entombed. Possessed

by you, swans gathered near dark pools, and I

returned, an Ariel, angelic for moments at a time.


I heard a voice;

it came from a room where she once danced, where the

windows where filled with the light of a July day. Must I always have to

whisper these secrets to you; surely, no one cares any longer.

She can no longer hear. She is dead, dead now, Bobabilicon,

and we now assume the forms in which we both were created, similar

and linear, no intimacy unknown. So let the two of us

cross this shore together.


No. The door is opened by oncoming footsteps. We have

more yet to do, though purpose is distorted, and thought

is random. She has started dancing again. I have laid down

this patchwork of behavior, it cannot be removed.

I am ready now, Bobabilicon.