Fynwigans Wreck

Words that
break down
gradually
into
meanings,

and morph into
“things”;

shape-shifting
slowly
into half-formed
entities;

sludgy
writhing
formless

little worms
squirming up
silken threads,
these last
lifelines
to the
former reminders
of
what they once were,

future promises
to what
their misshapen
conformations would
resemble –

and the glorious
moment arrived
as they

finally
shed
their princely,
serif script chrysalises –

petty forms
forced
on helpless
beings,

by arty
publishers.

One can see them

sleep

breath

slowly
stir…

Look!

See them open
their huge mouths,
exposing
neat serrated
teeth,
new-born
literary piranhas –

and hear the
pages shiver
in anticipation
as they emit a giant

ROAR!

You could practically
hear them scream
in frustration,
as they unfurled
their wings,
these
huge, gothic beauties –

“We are so much more
than these grotesque
shapes!”

As the reader tries to
examine
these
soaring
curiosities
with
a magnifying glass,

they scramble to hide
in the shadows;
expertly
evading insight –
these furtive,
winged ninjas
of the night

But the ever-patient
reader steadies the
butterfly net, and
catches them all

as they finally burst out
in an inky explosion,
leaving a trail of fairy dust
on the conscious mind –

rapidly growing
nimble fingers
cheeky grins
and the fastest feet
in the literary kingdom

that elbow
the surprised brain;
patiently prod the psyche –

A Japanese word?
An allegory to a Greek myth?
Or some cunningly sly
sexual euphemism?

But as soon as
curious eyes
travel to the
next sentence

they
craftily
vanish into
thin air,

taking the nearest
cum-ulo-nim-bus
at the nearest
fluffy stop-

where enormous
cat-buses also
slumber
in wait for
busy minds

that wander off on
their own accord.

(I can’t do wurd puns lyke Jaimes Jooyice. Welp.)

© Zelda Reville

 

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