successfully arching

Sentinel surveillance of the syndromic and the asymptomatic.

A coalesence of convalescence conjuncting with a tyranny of averages.

Handmade beds; and, piles of filled in journals.

The area below a curve

; &,

a line above a

word.

Gating shepards watching Anafortas exploiting the incomplete mantle of Parcival’s effulgence.

The ecstatic trauma of successfully arching the black swan of your black sheep dreams is becoming the dog chasing a squirrel. Knowing not what to do if it actually caught it.

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.

Curvaceous calculus.

Because she has the time, she performs the reconfiguring of the dogan. She razes, and ritely begins rebuilding her mental palace of labyrinths and mazes. The masses suddenly grow massless and restless around her, collectively unflexing the muscles of their prowess.

Even running the kitchen hood fan becomes risky; but, only because the old man upstairs is pent up and pissy. It’s become hard for him, continually hearing the business of people living. But, he creaks about the boards at a later and later hour, hoping for an email telling him, “I hear you.”

Implicating the certainty of my missing the hearing of his late night pantry raids.

A silent fireside chat.

And, even with computer processing, the avalanche of paperwork rolled over the system. A coattailing bug being currently debugged.

Some people disappeared; others went silent but seeable; and then there were those mouths which could not stop talking.

And, she wrote the same word so many times over the years, that she could no longer remember if the ‘i’ came before the ‘e’ or if the case is exceptional.

“We must stop wasting time,” he said, for the innumerable time.

“Then stop saying the same thing and get down to it. Watch the shape of the s curves of my shifting body, stretching. Do you see how the area under my curves remains the same in the end?”

“Yes.”

“You see how some iterations of my curve are more dynamic than others?”

“Very much.”

“Good. As regards this ardent analogy, ultimately, some will get it and some won’t.”

“So, we go slowly, take advantage of additional time.”

“Why not. Now hush and map my s curves.”

“Curvaceous calculus.”

solicitude to solitude (ii)

Introductions suspended while we undergo this live exercise.

New and emerging.

Novel and multicrowned.

Coranated by all together, through multiple tiaras given by the calling of too many names.

Cut like fingernails into quick. Sandpaper rubbing and Indian burns.

Salves of salvation and balms as alms for the bottom.

People now pay per view the fights they saw for free in middle school halls.

These expansive Plains of Repetition.

Iron Lightning could take a walk and return with horses.

I come back with a bit of skin darkened by the lightness of sunshine.

Full circle.

“Then, where are you?”

“In your nightmares.”

“While I dream in heaven.”

“Thank your gods for your Haven, fool.”

“How dare you tell me what to do. How dare you presume to know of my gods.”

“Oh. Are they so extra sacred and unique?”

“No. But they are mine.”

“Possessive one.”

Disorienteering

And, by the time she finds a page and a pen with which to record her whereabouts, she realizes, she has lost the thread.

Having pulled it taught over countless right angles and teasing curves to have only misplaced it.

It sprung back, in release, undoing god knows how many yards of work, in her negligence.

Disorienteering with Ariadne.

Tagged like feral game; categorized as uncategorized.

sometimes one is the other

And, Bloddeuedd wandered through the first forest clearing, naked; and, she felt no unnatural sense of self-awareness regarding her state.

Her unnatural sensory organs felt that portentous sensation indicative of The Merlin’s presence behind her.

Back aways.

Back away.

Back always

She could turn around to try to catch a glimpse of him.

That never worked, experience suggests.

Instead, she looks down at the meadow under her bare toes.

It feels crisp. Quite pleasing.

Her hair, freshly cleaned, contributes its newly found aroma to that which is already aired by the local fauna.

She hears the beatings of a large bird’s wings over her head.

She recalls how a demon and a dæmon are not the same thing.

But, sometimes, one is the other; and, it can be quite pleasing.

Couldn’t make this one up.

And, her brow somehow furrows while her eyes go wild and big.

Deep focus on what seems alarmingly terrifying.

That sound. That noise.

Echoing into silence as quickly as it came.

Unnaturally brief racket of an ungodly symphony.

She shakes at the hearing.

Strange currency.

And, she realizes she has been holding her breath.

So, she exhales, inhales, waits a moment, and, makes a strange sign over her left shoulder, using the fingers of her hand.

She hears the click of a jaw going clenched.

Merlin saw.

intermittent fasting

“You don’t have to know it all around me,” she said, stroking his head.

“Are you saying I’m a know-it-all?!”

“No; but, you just called yourself that.”

~

It became dark, then light, then cloudy, before darkening again. And the spool of film plays in rolling waves of punctuated equilibrium to the RPM of the spinning vinyl disk. Obelisk well balanced and too big.

Margot likes working in the theater, on her feet. Laughter for poor Albinus.

Are you erudite, obscure, or just confounding?

Can’t you tell?

No, and it seeps into my dreams, pet.

I find your pettiness precious.

You could eat.

So could you.

Dueling stomach growls proving there is something to be said for intermittent fasting.

Empty and floating.

was first called

A peculiar pretense.

Silence accelerates cell senescence.

The Oracle at Delphi did not say as much.

But, your neckline and forehead say volumes.

Draw a bath and unfurrow yourself.

Read between lines and parted thighs.

Phædo was first called Swan Song.

Fecundity and cycles of the sickle.

Bathed in adrenal springs.

Limbic projection of intimacy.

A cat purrs before a blazing furnace.

Static shocks spasming muscles from time to time.

that with which you speak

The knob’s lock unsnaps. The deadbolt sounding in turn.

A door creaks open and closes quietly.
It is the day after the rite of the last night.
“I want. I want to,” she says, quietly.
“I want, too,” he whispers.
They are two.
“Kiss my lips,” she says.
“Which pair?”
“I don’t care. Just put that with which you speak to the pink of that with which I feel.”
“I feel too big,” he says.
“Then your heart is full and hollow like a cactus tree.”
“I wish I felt emptier,” he says.
“Why?”
“So that I could dissolve back into the ether for a respite,” he replies.
“Like, die?”
“No. Like, dream.”
~
“Exorcise me.”
“Tears aren’t cutting it?” she asks.
“No. Fall apart with me.”
“Why don’t I just pet your head when you feel worthless or uninspired?” she coos.

the bench, aside.

The Mæstro sat on the bench, aside the novice.

“We shall make a song. I will play middle C. Quarter notes. Choose any key and add a note.”

The neophyte pawed at G in the next octave up.

“Now add another.”

The beginner stutters in anticipation of selecting the proper note.

“Savor mystery momentarily, but do not consider. Do.”

A hammer strikes a string. An E resonates.

Now, scaling C in three octaves, the Mæstro’s eyes close.

the remains.

The day the dome of the sky fell, the sky had been pure and light blue.

Then it shattered, falling like bits of flaky white about a shaken snow globe.

Slowly sliding down, the cocoon broke as glass.

And though, the visual trauma, momentarily, made everyone’s impatience subside,

the Universe cared not, in spite of everyone, everywhere thinking It did.

“You seem eerily confident since the event,” he said, nine days after.

“The sky has fallen. My insecurity shattered. Confidence is all that remains,” she replies.

is followed by

A truck drives by us, at well over the speed limit. Zebras in its trailer. It made you remember that limerick.

The only one, you. Know.

I say, “I don’t call ghosts ‘sir’.”

Precisely proud.

Let it roll while I make strange sigils with my fingers:

The pyramidic containment of an ‘A’, for you;

The flipped up middle finger over my left shoulder, back facing you;

The inversion with a middle finger flipped down;

Hang ten;

Metal horns.

(Another haul of the mother lode laid at the

grounded, pegged point of the Caduceus Staff.)

Shiva and Shakti as agronomists¿

And, my fingers move as if by some outsider’s volition.

The movement is an apple cart over-turning,

upsetting some.

Why wouldn’t we want to bring it all down?

Dictionary divination of a dervish

And, ca is followed by

cabal is followed by

cabala is followed by

cabalero is followed by

cabaline is followed by

cabanis is followed by

Cabaret.

unbuttoning

“Have you ever met a bashful punk?” he asks me.

I tap the skin covering his sternum with my index finger.

“Do you alternate between two complimentary psychological archetypes to reconcile them?” I ask, alluding to his question without directly answering it.

He traces the double u spelled by the curves of the underside of my breasts.

“We are all dealing with the transient eternity of the arrow of time,” he speculates.

{space only has meaning for matter}

“Let me show you that you are the congruence of the meaningfulness of the universe?” I request.

“How?”

I begin undoing his buttons.

Concretising methodology.

Parsiçal giggles to Æ

“You have told me nothing that Æ do not already know,” Æ tells me, sternly.

I grin, with closed lips, then

I say, “Oh howl. Is that what we were doing? Let me have another go at it.”

I do panto like I am a junkyard bitch barking and straining her neck against an invisible chain tethered to an imaginary spike.

I smile broadly, with both decks of teeth bared.

I suddenly spit out, “I once lit a candle that burned for two days straight despite there being not enough wax left.”

“Ostensibly,” he shrugs.

I cock my head sideways like a curious animal.

“Be quiet. When you try so hard, you always get in your own way,” Æ mutters.

“Oh howl. I thought that was the point of what we were doing. To let me stumble against the obstacle of myself,” I giggle snort, a bit bratty.

“Are you as confident as you seem,” Æ asks, seriously.

I howl in laughter.

“I did not know I appeared confident, Æ. I’m confident that life will render me unconfident often. If I am properly challenging myself.”

“How do you think you appear?” Æ asks me.

I reply, “Great question. I’m confident that I have no idea how I seem. Because, I am inside me, and cannot ever perceive myself. But, I’m the one that gets to experience myself as I am, regardless of how I appear. It used to be ‘I think therefore I am.”

“But, now?” Æ obliges me.

“Now, it’s, I’m seen therefore I am. It’s a real narcissistic shift.”

“So, then, what do you know?” Æ asks.

“All I know is that everytime I ‘think,’ I do not know.”

“And, when you don’t think?”

“I know I am.”

“How are you then?”

“I’m super, thanks for asking,” I giggle snort.

Æ rolls both eyes.

I smirk.

“Hey! I just made up this joke for you, Æ! Do you know it?”

“Tell me.”

“What’s the difference between feral, spitting of saliva and enunciated speaking?”

“…..”

“An audience!”

Æ smiles coyly. “Æ do like it when you spit your seemingly inane nonsense into the hole between my lips.”

My eyes go hard.

corporeal conjuration.

The entheogen that is your your proclivity, inclines me.

That would be my preference, thank you, kindly.

My acting aloof and disinterested becomes my inclination at times.

An odyssey on this odd sea.

Honing of my symbiotic synergy in our exchange.

You want me to howl for you?

Then restrain and discipline me before

I do so unto you.

The struggle that makes your breath short.

The venom that your karanika painstakingly kills you with in dreams, because nothing dies that is not already dead.

So what is the purpose, here in the taking of this meta-sacrament?

To see my shadow, my doppelgänger, and

let Æ out to play.

Another pair of entities at the Pit of the Pylon,

alchemizing the ephemeral into wave currents which conjure the corporeal.

Seshat calls to Thoth.

Come Thoth, it is your Seshat.

It is Æ calling us to aid in calming the howls of the

inane pharaohs of this æon.

I hear your verbose silence

spewing strange, novel phonemes.

I grin, sly, at the inaudible sound of your speech.

I came to do the ritual

of stretching the cordon

to measure the dimensions and

align the axis of the temple’s adyton.

Such work makes your Mistress of the Library ravenous.

I am carnivorous.

Press your open mouth to mine

; and, with your flapping tongue,

feed me the meat of your words.