Terror Is a Medium.
Waiting for the idea to make its final approach.
My feet are getting weighty inside dress shoe sneakers.
My dress is black and I can feel appendages gathering light from under me.
Somewhere I know this is being written down at the pace of my ankles on a new bit of curled up receipt.
I am walking now.
I am walking.
I hear the bombast.
Drums behind the skitter of strollers and somber cloak periodicals.
I am a pilot of which the avenue moves about me.
No longer the diligence of staring, but only to travel that course.
I will send them to the moon.
I will send them to the maelstrom.
They will grow tired of The Whirlpool when they put on their ThinkingCaps.
Coming up 4th street…Read More of Vesper Heliotropic Book I. Crystal Turbines…