Wrapping Meat In Leaves

Paralysed — if a prehensile tale were to give you extra balance then what would a pocketful of death allow you? He had been shanked and it had severed his spinal column. They fashioned dice out of milk teeth and rolled away the blanket of snow childhoods that they had poured moon silver turned coin into like music for the empty hearts. He coughed and pulled out a barbed wire rose that cried tears of blood. Everything was momentarily holy and instantly blasphemous.

In the back alleys where an aborted foetus had risen up and taken spiritual hold of the mother who had evacuated it from its environment three young girls were subjected to involuntary circumcision and a feminist set light to herself like a Buddhist monk in protest.

The future was written by the monkey that was Shakespeare returned through a time portal on a tandem being co-piloted by Charles Darwin. They left thirty pieces of meat out in the sun and waited for it to turn into children or angels but all it drew in was the emissaries of Beelzebub. Confusion reigned in the land and rained down from heaven. From root to canopy ever single bird in the trees dreamt of Stymphalos, the omphalos of panic and they cried siren cries, harpy cries to draw in the living and torment the dead.

It is rumoured that Excalibur was found in a red telephone box near Saint Paul’s Cathedral and the guy who pulled it from the skull of a hobo was transfigured into the image of John the Baptist and pissed cinnamon dolce latte for three years afterwards.

The hobo went out and started speaking to dogs in an effort to raise an army that might rebuild Babel and storm the heavens. It was a very good year as the song said. Several was an angel suffering from amnesia that sold the eyes of child killers to thrill seekers and he was damned for an eternity to eat the screams of the victims.

They took a poet and dipped them in holy water and told them that they must rewrite everything using a broken pencil and the skin of a stock exchange guru who had gone broke and become the world’s wisest Zen practitioner.

Refulgent, Carrie leaned her head to the side and held up the conch shell — she could hear the sea raging inside and it frightened her. She dropped it to the floor and reams of code swam forth like mutant sperm to rewrite the world from the base level up. Birth had come from death. And that was that.