The Boneless Dance

A second in the series begun by 'The Flea Hunter (All roads lead to Lybissa)' It’s hard to say where but here’s a darkness that’s like the darkness to be found inside a perfectly white grain of sand. A cell indeed if not in thought of you and Hell all deep. The wherebefore’s a wilderness lost and not a little on the dry side anyway. Away with it now and bless this day I say. Tonight the stars and this according to their own calculations will be falling and not a century too soon. The sacred well of memory is moving with our filth and leaves a sour everaftertaste. But ere the nations are buried deep beneath a foaming kiss and children clamour to go crawling back to the issue of their birth and terror lives and every shadow’s seared in place as proof a word cousin. Simon of Er says clap to the rhythm of dissonance til something’s heard of hands. Margin for error miniscule of course but near the right track you think or no? Moot now? Well. Forgive me. But looming large and likely lopsided headless loosens the tongue. Order! Order! Aren’t there barracudas in that water rising? Order! A whisper less than what was needed Order! when law collided with love and what has been with when will be? Order! Order me up an answer please. Blind I’ll decipher for signs in my soup regardless tonight of whether the fall is finished or cries were mistook for call. Forget me though my part in this boneless dance. If and when measure does fly the coop at least a good word will be in the breeze.