Tangle

A tangle of neurons is confused. Hadn't it just been admiring its dendrites in the mirror, or lounging around the house in a baseball cap and bathrobe, scratching its cerebellum? It had heard the swoosh of a blade cutting through something hard and living, felt woozy, then it found itself going back to memories of masquerade balls and criminal doings in the dark. Those ended quickly, and now the light around its cells fade. The light bulb above its knotty nerves, once brightly lit, cracks underfoot. It's a wedding of the body and the ground, the mental spirit and the rain, wind, and earth that come afterwards, under the moon, sweet as honey.