Fortitude forming favour in fabric fables. Fabulous fame flamed flacid forms.
Playing games with letters all about and finding funny fractals in low places. String words together and they mean a thing, or two or three. I am wondering tonight why so many have come growling. So many ugly words, sad words, twisted words and stiff words. I like to make less sense whilst waiting for sense to make itself known.
Words well forward to fall from my fingers. What words could be useful here where all words are used and many concepts formed yet none make a brick to form my house. I make no relevance? How is that necessary? Watching children play I see they have no space for functional design, the dancing wind is more entertaining; they chase and rope it like men killing dragons with pointy sticks.
Walking into fae fog misting with the stars, I find a fallen frame with glass all shattered and colours spilled in muddy piles with sharp edges. Picking through the shards is a hero's foolish gamble, expecting to repair what is broken before it destructed. We should have made it here before yet the path was hardly gathering whilst elder'ed gods believed it scored and waiting, and their sparkled antics just a chore to keep it late.
I found a point and then another, until four of them sat in my palm, and the region came together on a booming snap. Now a star-anise spins its perfume through the myrhh-smoked tilting garden, and my friends ride through the grass on waves of purpled air. We are singing. Low chants swimming. Fine lines weaving. Unseen skirts breathing. Leaving all unmade created in our wake.
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