A Mess Of Fry
Once upon tines.
Tinsel telescopes collapsing a soundscale.
Trips and wires.
Viruses as lookouts.
Scission teetering at the top of immune to toppling.
Ripcurls rankle rapport.
Curls clue us into outré.
Interiors resemble the chambers of expensive seashells.
Bellies and belies.
Tropes ride meridians like cowboys hold-on to bull-bucks.
Ropes made from tropical fibers.
What does all mean?
Eggs and a scrambled game of The Dozens.
Eggs and eggs.
An ideogram for an egg no bird lays.
An extinct bird in a contemporary sentence.
A sentence in the manner of the 17th century writ in bird-blood.
Manners glance at mannerist paintings.
Ants crawl over thick blue strokes.
The blue changes from second to second till it’s a color there’s no English word for.
Becoming Another Species
Fish on their way to flying.
Flight concluding in crushed lungs.
Light no-one can see this surround’s so dark.
No species in the vicinity of here can hear these soundwaves.
Looking at these chipped plates helps make sense of sentience.
Fine lines which don’t matter at a distance or close-up.
Final breaths before more.
Starts without precedents.
Art with uncanny incidents.
Tar with echoing myths.
Relief and remittance interloping the other.
Fags getting’ up.
Pansies storm down foregrounding a marlin being gaffed.
More A Less point
Caul wrapped around a lollypop for the heaven of it.
Calls for the heave of it.
Heaven of it a pointlessness.
Pointlessness a splendid.
A sentence from Stein sashays out of its pulpy bondage.
Sentences split from their spines.
Excision as very-very-very bloody and the bleeding cerebral.
Heterosexual versus homosexual S and M.
Turn as chiasmus.
Why have I singlespaced the first two pieces, and not the third one posted? Why grant greater pauses? Lace doesn't clearly link to more space!