A Rare Sigil Working of Extraordinary Dimension
Be left again, be right now.
I suppose he’s here, inside of mystery.
Am I ready? To see the
explosion of Casil? A
twinkling of a galaxy, sifting
slowly through the right,
sifting slowly. Glaciers move
infinitely fast that this creation.
Yaaaaawwwwwwwwwnnnn
Mungloff and Moksha,
rumbles the Brackston,
a building to some,
a breaking…to most.
But to itself, it is a tired
beet, a vegetable that has
been stunned beyond measure,
into a stimmying stew.
Delivered post-haste, to you.
Delivered, a morsel, to the splendor
of the stars.
——–
Am I ready?
to enter the door?
and walk the floor
where a key inserts
into me?
Do I dare> Ascend into
mirror, floating through the air?
I see before me, chimerical
magical being…and am
raising infinitely mysterious
books before my humble
eyeballs…
before the visage, a
clever, clever rope. It
appears to be developed.
It appears to be nothing.
It appears to be real.
Nothing is real
*Nothing is real*
A psithurisma touches…oh
so, so gently a leaf…turning
on its stem, in the barely
moving wind.
———-
Suspect Jones, mused the pillowcase,
into the young child’s doorly dreaming.
Delerium onset the rest of the crow,
causing no small amount of confusion among
the angels. The devils too, were sated only
briefly, before they considered their natural state,
Miasma.
Sorting pages into a shelf, one with a small red
toy, wooden bird, one-with spindly legs, the
goblin tinkered with a…Transition. Golden, in its
apparent clockwork, teaming with Time, the clock
continued to tick, zeitgests carving out
vast passages in space, time preserved.
Daily chores had found their way, and sitting
into a mantra, steadily gazing upon -mentally,
which ran simply:
Upon this mark I unite the worlds.
Upon this mark I unite the worlds.
repeated Hare Krshna style by a long ago,
a long, long ago, sober and persistent, memory.
A Clock, made of silk threads of carefully
dusted, carefully beckoned-into its perfect gears: Time.
A tree, so bad, wished to turn another path, for just an instant.
It had begun,
at burke’s delivery station: A vortex in the countryside,
a place where weary travelers
might find themselves
looking at themselves,
or
drinking the draught. Are we merely looking? they
would casually wonder, perhaps idly sip. Clouds would extend,
from the right, to the left. A boulder might be too
bumpy and hard to sit upon. A wide brimmed hat,
a smoked pipe, Enjoy immensely.
It was inside him. he realized, his mantra
forgotten. other memories flooded around him,
and it was,
it, it was too much.
Later, after ha had awoke and he’d sat up, sipping
drought, thinking naught, but fevered, heated
contentedness, kept him rocking back and forth in his bed,
his mother or grandmother rocking in the rocking chair next
to the bed.
Such is the familiar, such is the familiar,
Meso would repeat.
The flag, held on a quarterstaff,
but it would extend, though it was
skinny, and triangular, orthogonal
from the wooden pole, in the
wind.
People would walk their carts down the rocky path,
wooden wagons trundling along peaceably.
People would walk their carts down the rocky path,
wooden wagons wheels…
The changeling farie hesitated. Even in her,
unequivocal precicenes. Appearing randomly
she understood the nuances were not happening. It was confusing.
Diadems shone with illustrious power and convoked songs:
‘Heyo sire, allow us a fire
Heyo sire, it’s become dire
We need water, food and
something gentle to gather near,
from on higher’
Diadems shone with illustrious power and…
She paused, again, looking at light from…somewhere…
she could not source. It shrieked suddenly, the Light,
What moved, emerged from it, in some winged fashion…
having brought its…pattern into certainty, at last.
The phoenix, and of course it could not have been anything but,
was uncannily white, not red, deliberately Light.