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Becoming is like taking up
A crystal goblet full of purple ink
The stuff that begets hatters and rabbits
And curious oysters with bad endings in their cards
And drinking it down
Taking in all those not-yet thoughts
Those embryonic fantasies
Those epiphanies still wrapped in their silvers
And making them yours
Just yours
Just yours in their brilliance
In their ever-changing solace
And using them to change your stars.
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If swooning were a manly persuit - then I would be a puddle of cloaks and foppish lace cuffed shirts...My snuff box would be all a kimbo and I would be hastily lighing another cheroot to calm myself.
And curious oysters with bad endings in their cards... I'm laughing...
A unique style certainly, without doubt, an embuing of words with magesty...
Glorious.
