Great ivy of the whispering mother woven into the coil of space around a few buildings smoke fastened itself-- waiting for the disturbance of pedestrians. Along the block of crumbling buildings --war on the minds of everyone-- Charlie walked, Charlie (neutrality) walked through. In one long-lasting inhale ivy air, the filter through which everything affected, cast green upon the mores. Charlie failed fourteen years the bedside of comfort and gloom kept to another city. He left, but in leaving his joblifelover, found home. Charlie came to the law in clerk's guise In evening's presence he ate alone with people he did not know. he paid for service, noise-- leaving with hunger wrapped in leaves the veins of which, pulsed sugar water changing to cognac. Charlie (in park dusk) distilled an hour or two attending the cognac change (breathing thoughtfully in the swaddling ivy). In the April Spring, blooms burst ivy air where flowers would not normally grow luminous smoke pulled itself to the sky. Spring, in unwholesome grey nourishment, sprang from every block of the city. kept Charlie from dining. drove Charlie to drinking. On the fourth night of the smoke bloom Spring Charlie discovered Thalia Room. Fading marks of the genus left Thalia Room laughing its bar clothing into the languished pheromone smile of casual ruts. Charlie did not see people enter but inside, he was never alone. He watched Thalia Room's walls and saw little cracks, then bigger ones. Thalia Room, the place that old knew, its cracks were stuffed full of time. Its secrets lamely leapt from inquisitors, which in depth, were despised from the base of Thalia's bosom. cracks in one wall shaped a head at which no one looked. without uplifting or depressing inside was full-time dusk under a waning filament (dim orange dust) each corner crowned a table. Paintings hung their golden hued blues --a tenuous light, but more light than the lights which cast Charlie. Thalia bloomed differently than the city. It would never matter if it were Spring. Bringing his hunger to Thalia in the evenings-- One night, several hours before leaving for home Charlie climbed over weeks of reclusive being in Thalia Room, but when blooms outside, blanketed tramps Charlie met a woman. Sitting at a corner table, he'd stopped thinking on law and stopped thinking over talk. He wandered discretely involved with the glib gods that bounce from fantasy into the marrow of myth. The hesitant come before fantasy as myth in their thoughts they begin, breathing like old ivy. Though myth: hard --not bending wayward-- as behooved but lost fantasy, which a person uncovers in unearthed myth by chewing its flesh off. Swallowing mythflesh 'till his hunger was gone. the bone shone through, which often surprises its reverents. Their departed thoughts regard-less (like law) in the unfree-standing fleshiness of myth. They do not consider the organized softness inside. Charlie, in great but understated complexity did expect. He chewed off the flesh to get to the bone Let him wash blindness clean, over him, that he sees through it where finding the bone's glow would overwhelm sunlight. On this myth, he dove deep into the ground's grounding digging finger-to-palm naturally downward. Earthen charms moved out of the way, wriggling both wisely and nonchalantly. Home: muted rhythms on the surface. The night she walked to his table, She sat in the decision of a spoken accent and placed her wide earnest gaze into Charlie. Without guessing, she took his hand decidedly (with soft vowels and kohl) into hers breathed "watch." Charlie watched the woman stand. She gestured. He followed. Walking silently but holding to a corner of Thalia Room where dim mahogany fire scaled walls. In the cracks fire stalked droplets of rhythm (inclined), which roiled outside their secrets' cells. amidst glad, aberrant, chronos-rule reason flees in-dependence-exuberant mists. Still, the world without logic is agreeable to flowering. Slow unchange lifted its terrific presence: volume behind activity real synchronicity. all as cells divided-- birth to a hypnosis so great, allhumanculturecame. Charlie watched the woman, her flat fire-cloth entered flame became dance that ripened the era. The nouveau submitted to modestechos submitting to feint vibrant dormancy (impossible a sleep as the era would be) Like poppy seeds tumbling toward the individual's little mercies (while the vibrance of coitus brings candor to lovers' tongues). She jumped and twirled exciting arms and legs into the flow of dance. Lack of expectation spirited his energy to the tea-color steeped, scorched, surroundings, which led Charlie to teeter on the edge of curiosity. In a life away, he'd have been another man. though what life is he but his and the one of no other? In law, like fantasy, the most precise frenetic, or splendid of the species struggle to touch the earth. and Emotion, ignited in its earthy womb, yearns for the resolve of myth the greatest surety of myth's designs driving life, in the flesh. Charlie watched still, stung by the rhythm of the most ascetic ragtime. When she lifted the folds of a fan in one hand, he gasped. It cleaved the red void-becoming she dissipated spark-wise. Looking up to him motioning his attention without command of need she held sparks excitedly to her chest, where for the motion alone sparks could not escape. He saw her. In a mahogany celebration of flame not toward the horizon but gently slipping below where she danced faster. Becoming a fan in her fuse of form, fertile myth-flesh broke in flight from the Earth.
Phantomine artwork by Michael Keigher