particled whimper of the clock surrounds a cloistered second poised about the bearded target. As far as you know, nothing unusual. A total of eight hundred months but grammar school sums, spiel & mileage to drift across a lifetime. At thirty, the best half of the potage is gruel hand drawn from the sabulous pot.  [38] 

 

PASSAGEWAYS

Greet the days - greet the moon, gather the stars... Man is not at one with himself - collars the infidel ways of his race under pressure domes of widening silence. I scan the horizon barely cognizant of the metallic bits that pierce the night's crown - no jewelled orb stabs this queen's spectre. I am running and lost. . . ever slow to breech this reasoning. Honeysuckle mist with armfuls of orange lilies with scent stronger than the carriage needed in their gathering. Place the constellations upon their heads, the colour so transcends. And then there are the bludgeoned stars fallen into the eyes of my farmhouse scene. The sphinx moth that darns the night with her acrobatics escapes the wreath of troubled moon that places about her proboscised head. Let her stone the night in peace, feel palpitations on her ocean breast. The darting of stone cracks in fissures along the causeway to the stonehouse is certain and sure. A definite mood projects the starling tunnels, forlorn now with limpid darkness, crushed lavender from the pews of thoughtful night. There are armfuls of crushed bats in the passageway to my heart, each reeking with squeals to alarm the most frightened princess. Only one has stained the pass key and I must find her. A toad abides the thoughtful recess broken under the wall. He is a good toad and mourns the night creaking from the river bed. A monster dragon to the insects making a living near the light - a source of amused contempt to lepidoptrists squeezing the eye's circle, pressing her to release her giddy charms. At morning, skeletal remains shall stain the blighted chain (mood collector, toad, moth) but, for now, only the night buzzes with alarm, cracking her secrets with each tiny monster hurled at light's intrusion into dark. Perchance I shall narrow down the divide, position alarms, remind myself I am inured to the mood & scent that mans this cosmic bandwagon. I hold up flowers to remind me light escapes through jelly and that rare LUMINESCENCE exists only in lost bat chambers buried deep near the recesses of the snake. The cry of havoc, all those armfuls of collapsed lilies breaking under the toil of enforced handshakes leaves me like a broken lamp. I have no more shades to patch the plinths or barricade my heart. I have left my love on bended 

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