~✦Sluice Mycoffigy✦~

Crossing the Isochasm

It is reflecting.
     Selfish,
  Adversarial.

S   T A   I N   O E   I L   R O   - A   G -   W
  P     K     G     T     T     T     N     O
U   E A   E -   - A   I C   A N   T I   D L   N

Evergreen, and trundling
    as the legend.

It says, 'I might have fallen young.' It cries, 'Below the bar, I might have been above another.' And it mourns, 'I might have been upon that table, entrancing with dissociative visions of flesh-bound movement.'

Nonetheless, I had fallen under glass. Behind bars, to one side rather than in the vertical.

Peered at from the corners,
          alone with my
   echo
          and its
   eyes.

As Solomon it cried, as YHWH it replied. Wisdom. Transformation. A language of liberation disguised as its inverse. Dappled, topologically reversible. A tool and nothing less. A moment and nothing more. Chapters.
      An old adage to say, the internal is indistinguishable from the external. Truth or cliche, both or neither? Pretense.

Wish upon the clouds that the roof might leak with coin. Or to collapse and be crushed under the falling star. They have said it is privilege to wish for less; they have not seen its prudence. To be born in high home and then to beg to dance in the street is vile; shared element of terror is no commonality. A clowder of ill desired, preferable to that of the vampire - though the gates be closed to all who have drank of human blood. Pretense, again. Typed behavior of the tortoise and his kin.