Ignorance! Ignorance! Ignorance lit! Vitric twist of sun! O the plastic brain! I can see from my skin. Pain! Pain! Pain. A ristra of dried suns! At the rim no less of a history-maze! Parterre far and gothic high. Norman corbels. Big blocked limestone. Walls the led giraffe-head bobbing concentric. The centre? Green shade zelkova supine
Nymph-black hole. White-milk derm. Coddled in sylvan folds of seventh seas feeds with the honey of high birth these hot chrysanthemums, butters and pinks neuralgic to touch. Flowers! Flowers. Flowers! Pain! Nobody did this to me! See my cave. Scree my cave! Kill these rust-bit neck- fixing braces: high-fructose corn syrup, TV and
twill always have been a cave. Metaphor can nothing exorcise. Take us for instance: we feral French ponies centuries branched off on this cirrus wisp islet of Labroador: an accident overgrown. Who did this?