Hallelujah the Hills

i read a book by t. as the world cracked.  not like a mystery novel not like a documentary i slowly unravelled my story. it had been a clear misty day in an old city half fallen down. the edge of the

park had no fence around it. a man came by. he murdered me. i thought "i have a knife in my back. i am down." it was true, another man came by. he lifted me up. they tried to solve the crime, someone suggested acting it out again. i got up, the knife, down again. it was like a dream. i corrected all the

mistakes that had been made the first time around. the murderer was nowhere  in sight. it was a flight from reality. i had always said when i was alive “the revolution must take place in the sky" now that i had lost my life to it, i was dead but i wasnt glad. the murderer skulking down a dark alley had hit upon an idea, a dead one though, but an idea. he took a kerchief wrapped in oil & bandaged the burn he had gotten from twisting the knife in the victim's back. he turned to see that no one was looking, it was a darker night than the one of the murder. he coughed. he had coughed blood, the kerchief was also soaked. it began to rain. i had been murdered a day ago. a street cleaner who came by felt suddenly like he was before the cameras, a great movie, an extravaganza. he couldnt figure out why. he felt some words come to place in his mind. his thoughts were racing by him, all in words. looking around he found a place for them, in the ear of the murderer. he was caught. - from Moving by Bernadette Mayer