sentence wrought in iron,
words erupt in rainbow
complexion, the enigma of
lexis is even in metamorphisis,
better thoughts exist in greener
pastures. But the land treaded
is always patchy: itches and
rashes popping up and
multiplying in volume, those
inklings that erupt ... where
lies the corruption of this
spree? Through writ and
learning? Or through head-long
-charge into the
abyss? ~ ~ ~
That Goddess, Literature. Her
tender kiss and delicate
hands, to lead wanderers
into the Imagination,
mysterious eyes: no iris
to point just swirling white
star like light. Seeing but
not looking, her turquoise
skin, now a diamond hue
eyes transformed t'an orange
glow. Travelling through
paradise: time and
space not her dimensions,
so wheres the need for
convention? Retaining skills,
combing with tooth-picks
~ ~ something's unfixed.
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