A colony of schoolchildren’s desks dragged deep into the forest. Abandoned. Abducted colored pencils strewn. The light blue dangles from a spindly limb. Gleaming trail of dropped needles.
Tufts and shards arranged into strange story problems. Flowcharts leading nowhere in particular. Take me there. Take me anywhere with pretty little rifts, littered
with fragile pale blue glass in which my fingers squiggle mutely, then bleed through a triangle of light. Through a hole in the velveteen
of my pocket. Slew of spilled words dragged deep into anywhere. Mute gleam until the spindly particulars abduct me. Pencils squiggle pretty little limbs. Desks buzz like a hive of strange bees. The light blue dangles from my tongue, flows from a fancy colony.
At times, I feel abandoned. At times, I think what if all the cup-shaped vessels are sieves?
But what if?
Still some lump would be caught like a buzz beneath a velveteen tongue. A fancy vial would arrange itself between my fingers. All I have to do is un-stopper it.
Spill a story onto dropped needles and they will sew deeper pockets.
Fashion the tufts into tiny mohawks and the shards will assemble themselves into vials that have triangle-shaped heads that fill cups with blue light.
