So with bedtime upon cereal the glutton gorges, frolicking in delightfully sculpted arid grapes jutting out through the milky, haze ridden surface. But all for the nutrition of a tale to nod great heads off into rickety wheelbarrow hauled slumber – down into mine shafts encrusting crystals of jagged edges all along the dreary tunnel and so I head tumbling head first scraping limbs with gory chasms upon the bedazzling walls until at once the pallor vanishes from my bedraggled face in sight of towering soot layered columns, much calcified by eternal drip drop drip drop trip I fall into a mire of translucent viscosity full of virulent little sea wanderers – they snort upon my presence in xenophobic fashion waiting for the invader to expatriate. A hubbub of brouhahas disrupts the insular creature colony as feet march, vaulting silt streams past beady eyes filled with malice of indoctrinated rage. Ahead beams a slit of scintillation in which corpuscles dance to the beat of chambered winds, the bellows shoving walls of air to parade winding journeys through the cavern's intricacies, tooting horns of whispering entrancement and galloping with great haste in the narrow corridors until breaching the threshold of an encampment only to sift drifting particles for the enchantment of wary travelers. Break, busting, BLAM, and the rocks torn asunder lay awaiting a solemn fate, for dust shall surely encroach and dissipate any knowledge of form beneath its eroding blanket; an exit in sight the merry adventurer trounces slipping dew ridden blades neath liberated mandibles, exhaling an ecstasy of contentment for the wonders speckled leeringly across this ornate horizon.
A flower for you my dancing desert daisy,
a tulip to ease the mind,
or perhaps some ruffled shrubbery,
states the rhododendron galloping behind.
What of oaks and thistle
nestled neath wreathes of pine?
Such thoughts make me bristle,
I haven't the time.
Speak with precision,
of thoughts and visions,
loosed fervently,
not frequently.
Vast cascading hills of green caress the sight beheld, though venture a glance in feeble stance, and topple over you go. Surf down the vermilion vortex to meet fluttering fangled fancies – great delightful drifting petals of crimson, sanguine scorched salmon, jaundice jaded June jubilee gems of multifarious function. The butterflies too await a command: tiger striped moon drenched white splotched upon a shade of blue appearing only as a jutting mountain range strangles a deep summer dusk's sun into twinkling abatement. The cascading ridge roosts no birds of a feather, for one finds the wily aviary beasts far too fastidious to share any neighborly semblance. But when commotion arises, what colorful fog! Slicing through layers in dire jawbreaker fashion yields squawking beaks drilling holes of brief vacuousness soon filled with ruffled quills. The butterflies swerve in acrobatic adroitness yearning to stave off the storm beneath regaling blooming flowers. Would you care to sit amidst this brouhaha?
