1,000 words of prophecy

A farewell to Earth brings tidings of listening and rabbits march in armor across the sandy plains. With fish breathing mercury, air will seem sweeter after dark, the night blows bubbles. Listening, the breeze is a dry plaster dust, forgiving the broken bicycle, whose wheel still rolled farther than anyone thought possible. See the tired skulls, grazing, clattering cold, their might will prove a precursor of time. The lines of a tree’s bark dance like a snake, and the lightning strike freezes the landscape, winter reigns. Whoso thinks lightly upon gasoline breath, makes surefire lakes upon landfalls upon water-rises. The cloud - a teapot, The bowl - a red pen, Mighty Blue Icicles - hatch a salamander egg. Listless sparrows dream of gorgeous canyons which, though they collapse forever, never fill the river of roots. Dark caves breathe bats upon currents of smoke, the nostrils of a poisoned giant, comatose. These brooms, do they even believe in the existence of dust? The drinkers of warmth cringe daily, out of the sight of others, but not of their instruments. We wait, patiently, for the feathers on the floor to bring joy to the sky. Pleasure-seeking, at the birth, only a candle will understand, receiving messages from the radio. Tapestries strung along the hillside, longer than the great wall, successfully keep the demons at bay. When eliminating the unnecessary, the task often requires a flute. History is always asleep, and its scribes tattoo its mumbled half-dreams into the brains of infants. Dioramas of long-ago, an open-office floor plan, the communal kitchen. The poetry spoken into microphones only loves the floor. Who else but a sunbeam from Hell, to open the pillar of eyes? After astronomy comes an underwater jump, suspended, crushed. Voles shall grow tusks and hang our wedding rings upon them, the glint from the sunlight fells helicopters. A white wall, a wooden staff, zoom out, and the picture frame is cardboard. Ambassadors arrive, they whisper of such importance that we only perceive the vacant hiss. Once, people kept stickers in books, soon, lamps on the rug. A system of locks beneath the dirt keeps our explorers from weighing down the underground birds. Reflections in the knife, how accurate was scrying with innards versus horsehair? On this table are office supplies that in the dead of night, become a terror meditation. All roads shall lead down, and all vehicles bestow the written word upon the landscape. The simple background of bells, how decorous is confetti, how tarnished the torn records. I dreamed of intrusive employers, and all the houses burned down. Seeking attention, the athlete will never outrun the holes in the ground. You say ‘a totalitarian reign of fear’ I say ‘slibber-de-jibble-babber’. The longest line of paper clips reaches the black hole before it begins. When the flowers rise from the dead, all the bees become celebrities. Help is on the way, wild horses. The ‘used’ becomes the only currency understood around the campfire. The gods have given up speech in favor of breath. Shadows of triangles, how often they are what we meant to say. Trivial nonsense, these changing breakfasts. In an under-space, all claws retract, creating music. Paper-folding, as obsolete as darkness, fuels the folds of the brain. All the vampires really thirst for stars, light-juice. Mountains in the distance, a graph, if we climb, information sinks. Crinkling plastic bags might make a hat, might make a ghost. A few grains here, a few grains there, and entire countries mimic the amoeba. Teaching music to the young, is there an honor that equals the wings of a fly? Beef, laundry, indians, umbilical cord, what meaneth this, o prophet? The Senate feels silly and their giant atlases are too heavy. The cause of the bloody nose was a joke, word-play. Shots fired! - quiet in the library. A catalogue of the elements, what’s missing is a mirror. Blood is the color of sky as magma is the color of space as the sun is the color of the eye. Heaviness descends, when the astral becomes fat, hope may be found in the knitting needle. Somewhere, there is only a field with only a sky. Umbrellas fulfill functions in cartoons. Merely a handful of letters, no wonder the mice laugh. So many stimulants, how dreary the world will become. To find the ultimate treasure, one must become the dragon. We have a humming fortress on a distant planet that soothes space to sleep. There are always riders among us, what have we done with our diseases? Fueling hatred, every tool is an obstacle. Crack open a grain of dirt, if only I could find one. Brightness hides behind the street-lamp, the doctor thinks, writes, throws it away. Dread the coming of the green child, perhaps it has already eaten your liver. The brain tires, and wisdom is a fungus. The jungle hides behind every door, it will never let the trees back in. A fossilized fish beneath the moon, the only one there is, it fell farthest for our sins. Triumphant, the global system of tunnels tangles all human fingers in a ball. These sentences unlock the desert, grows a furnace, growling. If we’re finished with archways, we may proceed through the cold clouds. Measuring upside-down, the cycles of life mimic viral reproduction, the baby parade on ice. The bubbling apothecary feeds only those who eat sound. An orange sky foretells wind, a beige one, the rainbow that circles the seas. The morning monks all live as if they could breathe fire, instead they pretend to be awake. The elimination of toxins decreases tolerance for reproduction. Heavenly father, a tray of plastic reflecting static, the sound deafening. Blue bedsheets are stone like the picture of a fiery flower, but sleep is too quiet. If only the sailing of logs were as rewarding as nursing the wounds. With an empty and stained cup, the terror is replaced by strings, paper, walls.