This is an oldie but goodie. I wrote this a while ago, and I still love it!


A lugubrious magician performs a sui generis feat of Sufi mysticism, creates negligee genesis: Eden is dark.

Garden founts gurgle behind chusables. Eve hausfrau is present; where’s the Fuhrer?

Where art thou Adam?s apple had him weak–links have existed in the phylogeny of love ever since the antebellum lanugo of cumulus has grown on the frangipanis.

Spellbinding quiet in the pacific harem; I look into Titian crystal balls (eyes). I am necromancer.

On my island, I burn my soteria–my luminary offering to a god, a witch-angel; my happiness in golden leaf. And who is Tolkien’s Lorde but a girl?


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