Local Image #122

22 July 2024

Something is brewing.
A situation.
For... trouble.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.

Treble rebel,
barkity bark bark bark,
leaves and trees,
crackily crack crack crack.

The pious plea of the righteous:
When will the unrighteous be judged?
Don’t plant your bread or eat your seed—
It does no one any good.

Shhhhhhh...
Crackle and sizzle, sister,
The white witch with which to wichy wiki,
Wish upon a star,
Pagan gods and the promise that we can sort this all out now, please.

This undetermined sea—
Chop it up into meaning,
Give it some structure,
Some punctuation, some tone.

Separate from another,
Split into two,
Thou who wast once one...
Woooosh!

Who who who whoosht... woah!
Shit!
Pale son of Dracula,
Let us see those long incisors.

Guardians of the veil,
Don’t fail us now.
Keep from us what must be kept on the far side of the veil—
Do not let them enter.

Hold fast the unraveling fabric,
Keep them trapped in thy liminal spaces.
Thou hast no power to hold back the pure;
That is what I was going to become.

I can see the depth in the layers of paint.
Between the layers, there is a distance I do not know.
I see the depth within the flatness.
Ice cream, I cream, I scream.

I undulate in the waves of the atmosphere within this painting.
I was supposed to scare away the demons.
Did I?