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Paranormal Bouquet
03:52
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Deep within the shadow-lit caverns of yonder, underneath the hourglass of yesterday, there perambulates the mushroom dweller. Few have laid eyes upon his hidden fortress; the only witnesses return with mud-scrambled brains and fungi-stuffed nostrils, and no further information can be gleaned from their nonsensical utterances.
One fine and musky eventime
The creature bathing with a swine
Alights to find
It’s gone
The very best, his father’s spindle
Worn and weathered, many fingered
Snatched from the sepulchre of an ancient Aunt.
And so alone, in the stone, the beast laments on its own.
By the nature of his dried heart
Mushroom Dweller can’t do better,
With a shriek, unbinds his fetter
For the road.
And so alone, he will roam, a pauper seeking his throne.
Well who is to blame?
Who amongst us never lost the game of games?
Well who is so clean
That they’ve never lost a trinket, misplaced but infuriating,
We embroil.
He sweeps the dirt; still, no gain for his toil.
He treads the earth, still, a-nothing but soil.
The curious thing about Mushroom Dweller is that his nose is like a bloodhound’s. He can sense disturbances in the fabric of the universe, so fragile and yet so strong in their influence. A spindle to spind reality itself should not be taken lightly, kind listener; indeed, if not recovered, all who exist may feel the effects…
Acclimatize yourself to your surroundings, for only they who are one with the conscious world are one with themselves. The beast did just that, and felt a ripple. Turning south-north, he followed.
Have you ever known
Frenzied spirit, such that nothing
Cometh close to undermine it
Suppressing desire for any other thought?
You’re so alone on the road.
In filth
Flotsam clutters up your thinking
No jetsam, no inner healing
All that useless debris filling
Mind alive but barely breathing
Overboiled.
You sweep the dirt; still, no gain for your toil.
You tread the earth, still, a-nothing but soil.
Suddenly a tremor strikes. With fungal elegance, the creature begins to run!
Speeding past the mountainous flies
Mushroom Dweller hastens inside
He’s gonna see a…. Spindelope
Look! A freshly discarded pair
High upon the raisin stair, there
A-lies a body……… with a spindle hair
Oh what a perfect, perfect pair!
Guess why his eyes in wondrous surprise, light up when he doth recognise his very own spindle, birthed in twain.
Not a single lonely talisman, but two wholes of a half, wrapped in symmetry divine. Mushroom Dweller reaches for his prize.
Well there, I’ll leave it up to your imagination to tell you what happened next.
Inside, desiccated heart inflated, spores alive and floating,
Mycophile has found his spine
He’s not alone anymore.
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3. |
It Would Be Much Better
03:44
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