through bizarre vasculature

First, she assisted in erecting the ædificium of the flora’s subterranean root structure.

Learning from watching the trees talking through their bizarre vasculature, aided by moldy interpreters, the lady discovered the secrets of the adytum of Soloman’s Temple. They inscribed themselves in the Temple’s very dimensions.

Compliment to the unsated volume of the Petaled Shrine of the Pearl.

Then, Bloddeuedd asked her starling to stalk Merlin’s peregrine, leading to his Cliffside~House.

“What do you wish me to grant you for finding me¿” asks Merlin, charmed.

“The power to grant myself my own wishes,” she replies.

the lady sets flame

The nearly-old woman had rowed across an entire ocean.

Sick of water and the hyena laughs of seagulls’ cries, she found herself dreadfully lonely. A certain kind of lovely ennui.

Upon finally reaching a shore, she steps onto land.

Snatching up and opening her waterproof satchel, she snaps off her final dry match from the little book.

Striking the head, the lady sets the flame to the first tree she sees.

The limbs swallow it and ignite.

The fire brigade arrives, as hoped, her bidden welcome wagon heeding its combusted summons.

They were upset.

“You seem upset. It’s just a trick I learned from the matchstick boys,” she shrugs.

Kids soon arrive to witness the hullabaloo. The fragrance of the fire turns to a stinking reek, as they throw garbage to feed the pyre. Glass, aluminum, become explosives, followed by bombs of pubescent giggling.

“Why are you here?” the exasperated chief inquires.

“Because you have land here.”

“What?”

“Because the ocean thrust me here.”

“Why were you on a rowboat in the ocean to begin with?!”

“I was exiled from another strip of land for starting fires. Shall I grab a bucket of water? I’ve experienced putting them out, too. Water? Wood? I can carry six of one and a half dozen of the other.”

“Matchstick boys teach you that, too?” asks the chief.

“No. Priapus protects them against prosecution. They never developed a taste for accountability.”

“And, you did?”

“Yes, chief. I’m an honest fire bug,” she says.

She reaches into the camisole grasping her breasts and slides out a demure rectangle. Opening her copper cigarette case, she removes one and waggles the rest at the chief.

“Want one? They make your skin look younger and your hair shine brighter.”

The chief shakes his head.

She delicately clasps the slight case closed and taps the head of the smoke twice against shut copper. Packing it.

“Suit yourself,” she says slipping the case away, against her heart.

She gingerly leans into the burning bush which is all that remains of the smouldering tree.

She inhales, putting fire to leaf, lighting her penultimate square.

smoother than the current

Ending up with grandmother’s wedding china because I was the only one unashamed to use and chip it.

Gobbled down and choking on a lack of appetite..

Only one of us made it out; I still pay penance for it. An empath loves the narcissist, everytime. One ideates, conceives, while the other perceives.

Scour my skin to the bone. I am asking for it. I will disabuse you of yourself; just don’t abuse the Looking-Glass.

A sovereign holds the realm when this body alchemicalises into the temple’s adytum. Walls forged of a steely, alloy blend.

Iron and carbon. Chromium. Not allowing pliability of constitution. Intolerance. You ought to don a mask should you choose to galvanize.

It is cool to the touch and smoother than the current state of your aging flesh. Calipygian ass shining and scattering the light.

What is the difference between reflection and refraction?

Ball bearing production won a second world war. The sustenance of victory gardens yielded sustainable consumption.

A stake in envisioning the desired outcome.

“Feed yourself.”

“Let them bake cake.”

“All hail the queen bitch.”

untapped tenterhooks

“”

She watched his exposed pocketwatch glitch, continually clicking on 1:13.

“Your timepiece has a hiccup,” she says.

“No. That hitch in its get along preserves a piece of time specifically.”

“Oh Specific Standard Time?” she teases.

He rolls his eyes.

That frozen timezone where this intensity of scent memory seduces all into succumbing. Cologne in an elevator. Columbarium. The sweet soap the waitress who touches your shoulder wears. The aroma of my shampoo lingering on your throw pillows.

“You shed, you know?” he says.

“I have known for a while.”

“I found one of your hairs a month after you left.”

“So? Where, what was done with it, and what did you care?”

He simply makes eye contact again and stares.

Returning home, with untapped tenterhooks and tarp in her pack, she bivouacked on the sidewalk of the High Street. Too tired to care about pitching shelter after being so carelessly untiring.

“”

little seeds gum

Just a moment to bemoan feeling alone.

Sirens swarm.

Rain patters like swiftly boiling water, in spite of the shining sun. The Morning Star beating his wife again.

As quick as it comes, it will go.

Either the sun.

Or the rain.

But, the mathematical solution to 0! equals one. Seemingly impossible. Impossibly erudite. Contemplative pornography.

Like eating a raspberry just to feel its little seeds gum up the curvature of molars.

so, I took a wrong turn

She has nothing to say during the day time.

Saving it for night time’s shade.

Knowing next time, she’ll sow these seeds into the desperate nightmares that will become your dreams.

Cowards in the cul de sacs of tax payer paved streets.

I wilt tread over these as much as I please. Let your puppy bark, your motion sensor lights trip. I am a stroller not a prowler.

And, as much as I am uninvited, you are not entitled.

You are a dead end at which I make my u-turn.

the Fool forever falls

I remember you. Yeah, you. You stood next to the burning acacia bush. Hard to forget.

Whilst the girl stood before the podium, clutching her tome, a man held her tresses with scissors poised. A confusing ancient image.

Nowhere else is where she’d rather be. Snip the dead ends and make the sheep shorn.

Ewe.

Ewer.

Hopelessly old to be so young.

And, in dreams did I endlessly empty the carafe into the stone basin. Naked and milky white liquid ever-flowing. My eyes trained upon a single stone upon the ground. A star, a wizard wearing a vizard.

Two pillars of sycamores framing me.

I heard your caw.

I answered with mine own trill. Basil tinted and chai scented.

The folk of Zakopane take for granted the mountain air surrounding. Snug in chalets insulated against the Kasprowy Wierch. While opening the parcel, I confuse feeling wretched with the sensation of a heart being wratched. And, all at the sight of the Slovak postmark.

Because it makes me recall the not exactly cream cheese they call qvark. White cheese paired with fruit and a terrace. A simple ripe raspberry atop to boot.

Prattle and pitter patter.

Refreshed at being carefree sans carelessness.

You are comfortable, he says.

No. You just find me cozy.

And, they threw out all the words I firmly etched with his letterpress.

Into the depths, off cliffs of Tatras,

The Fool forever falls.