crush their bones to make the flour for your pie crust all you want! i know that i will. sing a song of the sparse elephant graveyard located in the appian hills, written of in the mute book. o don't you begin to rise up in me, tongue. i will keep you on a steady course! with these withered limbs. shh. lest i speak of the White Tree, whose roots reach up & not down. whose mind is the mind of all the unthinking dead. let there be no fruit as anathema to us as the toadstool! heck, sally, while we're at it, lets say down with peas & lima beans. i'm sure we can dig up some demonic potentate for them while we're at it, can't we? shee-it. they could dig up one for us, after all. you with your soft knees & elbows swaddled in grey. will you drown us in wool? will you cut at us with shears? or i'll cut at you if you know what for. i know what for, between spoonfuls of cough syrup. hawk from a handsaw in ten seconds flat; twenty, tops. sour as the sweetest carmelized lemon rind when she kisses, but she ain't here with her bossom full of safe. all i've got is a pistol, chambers gummed up with cobwebs. its the way i like it. if you knew the first damn thing about spiders n' me, & you had a price on the old man's head? it's how you'd like 'em too. hell, i'm a prince on the old man's head. we'll show you a thing or two 'bout revolving. so you read the fine print on the back of your snake-oil bottle all you want. its a few chimes to late to stop me anyhow, even if i wanted to. plucked all the rose petals off 'long time ago, she loves me, she loves me not. no more time for the khaibits of ascians. soft-soled shoes on hard-wood floors. grandmother kali yuga in her chicken legg'ed gingerbread'ed house with a pocket full of 'em. rosies, i mean. heck how'm i still standing you may ask? may i refer you to the wallachia engine built by monsigneur camazotz in the lucky 16th. patent pending. & see also frater tzitzimme's amazing sigul, the rood of the zmei. we are dissolving & it is the face stamped on our last will & testament.