She was," he proclaimed, "so extraordinarily beautiful that I nearly
laughed out loud. She ... [was] famine, fire, destruction and plague
... the only true begetter. Her breasts were apocalyptic, they would
topple empires before they withered ... her body was a miracle of
construction ... She was unquestionably gorgeous. She was lavish. She
was a dark, unyielding largesse. She was, in short, too bloody much ...
Those huge violet blue eyes ... had an odd glint ... Aeons passed,
civilizations came and went while these cosmic headlights examined my
flawed personality. Every pockmark on my face became a crater of the
Let the snake wait under
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
—through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits