mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

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small things forgotten.

the barking sounds of sea lions distracted fatima from the sky for a moment. her stone perch in the mastadon cemetary was carved all up the sides with primitive ideograms (later nuanced by cabalists & sorcerers) & stood like a broken tooth amongst the scattered skeletons of tusked cyclopes. the sandy floor of the graveyard was long since overgrown with crabgrass & mottled with shell middens from fearless prior inhabitants who paid no mind the macabre ambiance of the place. her chest heaved, bound breasts pushing against the woven fabric of her simple dress, & she felt her cheeks to assure herself that the stigmatic bleeding of her eyes had not resumed.

up in the sky, the bloated gods of the neolithic hung in the sky like air-borne cuttlefish, feeding lazily on areoplankton. the tentacles of one stroked the sides of a sealed black spire, searching patiently for any opening. patient as extinction. the tower, a sharp talon marring the twilight sky, stood silent, sealed, defiant in silence. while the mahdi sat on his throne, the gods were impotent, vexed, barred from the minaret. his muazzin, three fold, stode the blighted land still, & his general marshalled his armies. the mahdi would not be undone by old gods of ruin. fatima knew this- she knew much of things occuluded.

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