" 'I'm not positive there's sense in this plan,
So file this under "because I can." ' "
Atop a thought whose view was far and lunar,
Mary wandered, aimed by madness retold,
There was a horse that should have come sooner,
To spring her from a cell of rock and cold,
Caligula was not a steed for sane,
Men fled when he arrived in rage that day,
His teeth like hell, jagged; dreadful, his mane,
Ragged, dank hooves wet red from trampled prey,
O thing of naught and worlds forgot,
The eight by nine Mary did pace with hope,
But her mem'ry is ink faded from rot,
And this figment equine a'called "elope,"
Her mind recalled a poison sting within,
Scorpions 'o the moon had made her sin.
The problem with prisons built on the moon,
Whose cages contain the sharpest of loons,
There's no goddamn air,
It's really not fair
To trap Mary with the dish and the spoon.
The horse of metal just kicked in the door,
An easy jail-break, security's poor.
Mary grabbed her sword,
So done being bored,
A blade thirsty for moon-scorpions gore.
Crazy never breathes
Neither do robot horses
Once escaped the walls so jagged,
Neath the space and stars of Eden,
Time's a highway for Caligula,
Trampled minutes repeat again,
"Such is madness," thought she again,
"Within, alone, shall I remain."
"Shut the hole that shelters cowards!"
The horse demands, silent no more
"Brave robots have no feelings,
So robotic you must become, j'ador."
To slay moon arachnids was the chore,
Perhaps her sanity would be restored?
A cave underground
Only a hope for hope's sake
This scheme had to work
There was fire down inside the dank old hole,
That licked and flickered out of control,
"I'll kill me these bugs,
Their corpses: my drugs."
And to self-medication Mary stroll'd.
"I'm not positive there's sense in this plan,
So file this under 'because I can.' "
She produced her blade,
And lit it aflame,
And descended to where madness began.
We should not forget Mary was braver,
Flying in the face of sense and purpose,
That would have given cause to men saner,
She struck moon-scorpions right where they dozed.
The battle that day was harsh and bloody,
Red heads rolled about the fiery floor,
Cut and stomped, Mary's hours were muddy,
Caligula carried the task he'd swore.
Bugs crawled and swords sang, and the day was won,
Or so the stories would make you believe.
In her bed, Mary woke, the dream was done,
Rain outside clicked and stung, no good reprieve.
Caligula gone, the moon was blackened,
The lady tucked down to sleep neglected.
-- Ghost Little
on Twitter | @GhostLittle_WTF