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novelese
What twists the plot is doing… Lines of fates
are cunning by the dots.
And eye will poison. And a sense will answer.
To delve in words, to bead them, to admire
the manner of the man whose heart was stripped.
The mystery and the imagery, brighter than brilliants,
merge in nuance, curling, stirring, winding.
Darting to refinement, ciphered whimsy phrases
create a nugget. Suspense cries.
Its voice and smile dupe the dupable ones.
Touch it--and the buffoonery will burst.
And all is shaky here.
A suspension-bridge is ground--but the fire
is blazing brighter in the dusk.
All the barbed arrows have been aimed--at whom?
Laughter is heard--yet nothing arrogant.
To search a scanty honour at the bottom.
To find it being desolate.
How meandering the road that leads us up to sources.
The audience is all electrisized.
For everyone is waiting for the final.
