mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli
mordicai
  • Mood: phone call; inside line.
  • Music: crown me king- "for so long the rust belt was home"

the menace of gods.

nothing even to white wash this tom sawyer fence. its powerful good thing the widow j. tain't around to pull my ear. though colonol harland sander's fine poultry sure was exellent. it was found. it was cut into small pieces. & it was digested. i may not bite but i nibble. i may not chew but i grind. that which survives will be crushed by the stones in my stomach- i've taken to saturnalia in all respects, ever cautious that any rock might be a jupiter.

the camp counciler is a murderer & a jew. the witch-hunters are coming for him, & mind- there will be dunking. the collapsed veins of his arms will seal the deal. they will prick him & they will condemn him to death. his familiar will meet a sorrier fate even- for her, the water, to match his salamander-fire. no sister flower, percy. no glorious pyre, no incense of smoke & flesh. i romanticize drowning- it perhaps makes me think of birth, of staggering contractions. but i had only one contraction: collision. (but i dream of teflon coated fish-hooks.)
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