The Hammer Man

The flat.

Bent nails, held, flattened against timber.

The entire structure leans, an arched fit between boards threatens,

everything.

The first time the Hammer Man came, they were angry.

“All those loose screws with their screws loose,”

And even those good little nails, with their heads safe below the line,

were afraid.

Crack! The first one struck; Fear and confusion belayed the tragedy of violence.

Crack! The second one taken unsuspectedly from behind; More confusion, public outcry, and a conspiracy taken shape.

Crack... by now everyone was starting to get the picture.

The Hammer man only went after those nails who held themselves above the others; who’s poor craftsmanship led them to lead lives beset by rusting winds and whose crooked bodies allowed them to cling desperately to the wood unburdened by the true work.

That terror rests one those who called it upon themselves. Nails began to de-escalate their twisted limbs; whether they had been struck or merely witnessed the Hammer Man’s work, they slowly spiraled down into the healing embrace of the porous fibers.

But then there were those who remained, too encroached in the wood to ever be bent back into a shape; and for that the Hammer Man needs...

The spike.

Opposite from the flat, the spike waited for those who did not heed the Hammer Man’s warnings. They would no longer benefit from his kindness.

After recovering from the hammer’s ringing might, with splintered metal shards reknitting themselves alongside their crooked minds. Some would choose to retain their twisted crimped form, and there we find the necessity for a more permanent solution.

Added security, weapons, cameras, reinforcements; nothing comes to bear with their defenses, The Hammer Man cannot be stopped by meager forces.

They sit there thinking themselves safe and sound at the top of their frames bearing down at lesser nails.

But the Hammer Man cometh and turns his hammer to bear its pointed justice. They know nothing of what strength is swinging down on them.

The zinc carapace is pushed aside as the pointed tip enters into the house. It pinches down and tears at the skin, tearing each fiber and bursting the vessels. The hard iron shell cracks next, splinters puncturing the soft tissues above and below.

The spike reaches the soft center, and once gaining it’s hold the Hammer Man wrenches up pulling it’s crooked contents out of the body of the nail. He strikes again, and again until nothing is left to pull out.

The body of the nail rests on the floor of it’s office.

The Hammer Man retreats,

until he is needed again

--- --- --- --- ---

Poetic refrain

--- --- --- --- ---

Waves caressed the shoreline; smooth and clear it wept up against the jagged rocks, each clash of the brine washing out the visceral grainy texture and depositing it back into the sea.

Over time each became like the other, the rocks smoothed with the wear of time - rounding into a supple and welcoming form -, the water found itself suffused with the jagged remnants muddled and cloudy gestating beneath its surface.

Perhaps if left alone for long enough, each would become indistinguishable from the other. A shore smoothed into the muddy bottoms of a careless ocean; in turn now mineralized and harsh muddled brown.

I am still very depressed.

--- --- --- --- ---

Will anyone be able to stop me? please stop me.