‘In decision thus,
The drawing bridge will close to half.
For pulley there, and guarding shark
in fear of terrorising heart
have frightened them with mercy
(while collecting humble art)
until in kindness,
I cannot in kindness keep my fortress shut, for it is steep, and long before you grew up, we were getting down. Welcome, kin. Come in, come in! Why the sticky hesitance? Glue me to the residence and rest your itchy paws. Today was just a puddle in the swelling belly of a python; sure to shrink again, but one which always knows of those to come. We wait the line for varicose in three dimensi-ons at most, and reach for spoons along the road. To lead my ample friend to narrow ending wells, I balance eggs up on my nose. Horns and bells could ask a single cause, but seem to yell a few instead: “Take off your head! Did you hear what I just said?”. Thus corner-ed, the rook itself would repose in dust along the shelf, hung weary by the wealth in books of whom the mushroom chats about with freshly catalogu-ed glaze, at least for three banana days – bats and wild – but not to split the cage. Not much room to turn a key in locks the size of walnut trees set in silhouette before the rising breeze and howling sun.
But, dear children, why the frown? I am hardly barely nude. A bottle cap sits on my crown. Actually, I lost my gown. I am but flesh from dimples down. Of other matters, how have you been? So icy and forlorn? Well then, let me get you warm; I recollect a time like this; a reflection if you wish.
I met Glenn or God that day, which one I don’t recall, but he relayed us all in spells and muttered halls to laugh away, or ask again. I began with ‘When?’ He mocking answered ‘Then’. He wore a velvet whistle. She whispered ‘What is that?’, fidgeting with fuzz; a twisted knot. She who walked on silver string and searching for a key to ring, stood beneath her fickle hair. I would have asked her name but didn’t really care. Honestly, she was black and I saw her white underwear. Get this, she receives my stare – delighting rich – cracking kitchen pot to can, she checks the door. We bend our knees and boogie on the floor. Glenn the meanwhile eating shit, or most of it, bears a dizzy tunnel down the rubber floor. ‘Copy not,’ repeated he, his way faring to shreds, his cripple feet struck cold and red, ‘but emulate’. Despite the clear conceit in this I held a final pause in chambers of the winking jungle. I never doubt he saw in me the same deceit and further held his place. I left the grains behind. Ripple, jumble, did we then, for Glenn or God had by the hem glean-ed of seeds I had lain in double virgin olive trails, forcing fans to shield their palms of one, rising cake. Solid as a lake. Impatience bakes the best of us, but Glenn had given trust, and for that I now would share the rest.
He is in twelfth and seventh time, or else she who passeth wine to screen this mind now withdraws a lucky score of time. Previous to this recline, dotted down with dumpling jugs and sacks of hugs, there was a skinny waisted fussy legged spindle braided ashy fingered thing, a creature who could sing, but chose instead to endow my pregnant self respect with all else but a hell’s neglect; he introduced the ropes of trees (their bubble peeved by manners of the loving levered) and only just to please. Mingling in guessing game and dressing less, from the brick reserve he did caress the ceaseless and invisible. ‘Skip,’ he called himself who brought his own ‘supplies of fantasy’, (for we else three who had the rolls of tape and taped the rolls of spinning corn had none else then to look upon, or none at least to see with scorn) brings to me that Glenn, who gave conspiracy to men and spins his thread deep down to them who sleep in trains and truly give the whollest praise.
And though they had all dignity, none but one returned to vote; the fledgling coalition coat fluttered coyly from the cast; unhooked then from tortures past and filibustering to last no longer than a molten river cruise across the oriental plain, so that the diligent might best remain to shimmy in the tally. I thought it queer to commandeer the arms of anger most, especially when Glenn and Skip did repudiate the current host. Perhaps it was a simple toast, and not a boring game of hearts, no played out place to start, but only what they wanted most. Greener than my growing hair and sandy growls the tiger there who perceiv-ed them so wrong. But she will learn to get along, and ojalá will hear this song.
θ θ θ θ θ θ θ