In the Folds and Under the Crust
Under one rock we found four crawling memories that vanished with amnesia when we noticed the twenty four scrapes in the freshly raked sand. Each scrape contained a list of commands that would behoove the soot covered plastic lantern to stay lit through day and night. Its light so dim, we pondered the integrity of the monster within.
The chains of this place wrinkle in the dawn with the pull taxed upon them, crying for alchemy. I cry with them, but with a smile that melts the tension into handles by which to share the load through the day. Colors are rubbed from the ground and smeared over the moving parts, and we catalogue this. Wings of enormous span unfurl and carry the fortress on the birds back. Never short of impulse, webs stretch and connect, recede, and carry out duties from some timeless idol.
Jaws crack when opening, unhinged, revealing infinite emptiness satiated with bruised atmosphere. Pour black paint down there and rope off the entrance. -E.K.
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