Zoological Zoom
Cobblestones of pantry and a wide toothed grin. Visitors from afar pay no heed and paramount is the settling and uprooting of cultures old. Might as well be blood in that feather quill who prints octagonal lines on a parchment. The otters are arriving on their many boats. Their hats adjusted. Times of affluential fashion and norms carried in a wide brimmed basket hat. Always with a bow. The many eyes and ears of tree lined shores listen to the arrival. And as the booming stick pounds on the floor of this jungle the rush of brown skin dashes to the floor. Garden not a wilderness. Dangerous it is to attempt to train a beast. Attempt not to understand a culture. And harvest only what us necessary upon landing. Beginnings are not a temple they are akin to a whisk. Whir whirring and causing carnage, chaos and death. The cavern then utilised for storage. Those that had dwelt side by side now shuddered in the new comers presence. Myths are a faith and a comfort when the camps of the intruders are land lepers. Lesions. Talua the wise woman of dragmo speaks. Ordering all precious items be hidden in the sacred cavern. Enshrouded by canopy. Therefore unreachable. There it would be guarded by the blues. There it would come to no immediate harm. Yet, if one day the total environments were threatened with loss then the blues shall rise and with their many gifts call upon the sky carriages to assist the lands. Thus ensuring no single specie would be eradicated. So now to look upon the dawn. Imagining life as a fish or a prawn. Diving to depths but with no passports. Clapping and dancing with the bullfrog parade on bulletins. Tickets are not trains but trampolines to flies. Under a mountain pass moves a mammoth. Giggling bears in vaulted chapels. Undergrowth has reclaimed this place. And planets due are akin to pouring cream on strawberries on a very hot day. Weaving wavering weaponry weapons weeping wept webs weekly waking winking walking waves. *** potency. *** pickled ice cubes. Xx a pickle ice skating *** myriads of time paths in a juice. *** balmy bacons *** I think not a morning I wish fir a harmonic interlude of a dancing flower at midnight in a noodle broth. *** brethren. Brotherhoods. Breathe. *** zoological. X
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
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