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By coujeaux Date: 2003 Apr 16 Comment on this Work [[2003.04.16.22.13.30701]] |
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Thinkin' back on it, we didn't know no French, so what it meant wasn't a concern, We were just your typical testosterone-soaked East Texas boys wantin' us a turn. The ride was about an hour or so up Highway 59 outside of Marshall, I remember, Never was collective laughs out of the men as Kendall compared us to the timber. They called me the Silencer, so much for my introspection as my rigid demeanor, Little did they know I was as eager as anyone else to discover me in between her. The place was understated, really; not much more than a shack upon private land, Observing mood of my cohorts, lack of acknowledgement was easy to understand. So there we all stood, ready, willing, able; thinking we were boys come to be men, I was vaguely aware that whoever was in that house had seen this time and again. Whoopin' and hollerin' as the door flew open, then the rush of masculinity entered, No sooner had all save I cleared than the entire building had folded and splintered. Aghast, I stepped back and watched the metamorphosis occur, unbelieving, intense, As what once had been a building cracked, shredded then refigured itself in defense. A fortress of sorts, I gathered; seemingly some sort of chastity belt for anyone new, Just as I thought I had seen it all, yet another surprise appeared; the structure grew. Twice its original size, now stained with blood and I swear to this day I saw a scrawl, Windows were eyes, entryway a smile, hallways spelled words "Come one, come all." |