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The Unspeakable Passion of the Night-Keeper's Daughter
In the last quadrant of evening, with blood flowing thread-like from the beauty of her intricate invasions, where the Night-Keeper dreams of his negative solutions so similar to the randonly swinging set of keys, she licks herself in the depths of that molecular mirror cherished by the chemists (their torment is the locked entrance to the reflection of the universe––times the number of glances that are well received...)
She needles the flaws in perspective to the mechanism of memory, turning it around into reverse, and shutting it down for the duration... Her eyes see through herself, bridging the gaps in an upward diving gesture, dismantled pearl by deadly pearl for the enchantment of the species. She is the purest laceration, the ghostly bell...
NOTES
1. Descriptions of her fading are gradually diminished...
2. The center of gravity is in direct proportion to the placement of irregular objects...
3. She is always ahead of the game.
4. The mirror is replaced by instinct...
5. The grinding follows the arousal of her immaculate gaze.