Words...

[letterblade]

Bruno Schulz is now one of my Gods of Language. Example: the first paragraph of A Street of Crocodiles:

"In July my father went to take the waters and left me, with my mother and elder brother, a prety to the blinding white heat of the summer days. Dizzy with light, we dipped into that enormous book of holidys, its pages blazing with sunshine and scented with the sweet melting pulp of golden pears."

The whole book is like that. I had a verbal orgasm.

I also brain-farted some vaguely poetic stuff, which I have an urge to post, and so I'll futz around with cut tags and hide it. Should learn how to use those things so I can post my CoS response...

in the heart of the flame
eyes track a shadow
a dream baked real in cinders

fire sprawls like grass
tended and lush
mown only by the passing of reptile claws

scales soot-black and coal-red smolder gently
eyes blue like fire burning too hot
flicker of its step the breath of air between wick and flame

can it leave the fire
this apparition of little mentions in old tales
or is it trapped within the cage of heat and life?