Heirloom blossom the petals sickly sweet on the palate but cramping with bitterness shifting eyes gripped by a bloom of wide pupils and sweat the coward holds an ornamental knife an empty talisman of warding sapping strength and seeping fantasy hands clam in confusion to cover the blight of blood and conceal the sour of soil spirit drinks deep of the rotting hole

He who is of the takers has no route of wolves nor pride of lions
The wooded voices steadfast in wisdom and deep morot roots
Parade of elephants stand sternly and bemused
A wake of vultures flap merrily hopping on the sands
A cauldron of bats invite us to the swarm
Wind whispers over the tendrils of tuberous grubs under the yawn of clouds
Cackle of roaming hyenas teeth shown a bask of crocodiles peering like logs
Dawn sings the maze of mold and soil and lost in the fungus labyrinthine
The consumnation of fear is to become consumed to be husk of desiccation

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