After the causeway a fortune of magnolia petals crushed to a fine paste and smeared upon your breasts. Something is sure to come of this. The discovery of two small moons in the orbit of Saturn. A brief cessation in the process of calcification. The last drips from the tea bag swirl darkly into the rest of the tea. If you could speak this language you would be handsomely rewarded. Instead we will have to send you into the fields to choke the barley until it gives up its secrets. In various separatist strongholds there are pockets of resistance. In the Lake District in autumn the edges of the gravel paths are littered with bottle caps. The ones eaten through with rust will provide the fuel to reach those new moons. We assume they will be named after Titans. Perhaps they will break with tradition and name them after regional outbreaks of primate viruses. Or the nicknames of provincial film stars. The items left in your purse after you stop using your purse. Which brings me back to your breasts. If you could get those huge heron-like petals to turn into a kind of apple I’d have to say our work here is finally done. A causeway made of baboon skulls you can dance upon with your red umbrella. Just hold out for an updraft and we’ll soon be on our way to Saturn.

 

 

The Alembic 2006