Whatever it was that was in his
head
it either sifted away or took wing like a mad moth
distracted by the
light of the moon and fluttered madly towards its cradle in outer space
its seemly crescent he thought
hardly an adversary or suitor to electric light
moths
and insects
havent been the same since the first currents fluttered on primitive
filaments and the
indecent glow of an aroused incandescent bulb spun the air surrounding
it like a
hyperreal spider web
when Artifice
began oozing into vogue
whatever it was
it became tangled in the brazen
fracture and weaving branches sprung from the walnuts
limbs
sheared
and sieved through its foliage and pummeled by its blunt dullgreen immature
nuts
faces
smooth and as unperturbed as sleeping babes or quiet ball and peen hammers
dreaming of shoeing and blacksmithy work
their
orange nightmares the flared furnaces and coals stoked by the sodden breaths
of
wheezing cancerous billows
whatever it was
it was hung up and dappled
and
moved by moonlit breezes which had confounded at least one dull rote insect
and one ginned writer
who
pulled at too many doors which refused to resist his grasp
and tug and swung
open on cooloiled hinges
revealing
what they were closed
to conceal
leaving him reeling
and agog
1346, Saturday,
19 7. 14
