Heed shed ice.
Oui, the eau de cologne.
I do not see them.
They are invisible.
Hide shedu eyes.
We shall never touch
the heavy soft globular instruments
which once apprehended
a golden age.
The eerie world of the ancient dam
and the inhabitants that built it, and the
reservoir carved from solid rock.
I DO NOT SEE THEM.
For days we climbed upwards
inside the perfumed beard, until finally
the air became colder, and we found
soldiers, dead in ice coccoons, their
faces like ciphers, each a faulty pronoun
reference:
He did this.
She did this.
They did this.
I did this.
We did this.
It did this.
We watched their bodies crumble
as they tumbled into the chasm
of curly locks below.
Then, we continued on,
ascending magnificent heights,
strange perfume in our nostrils!
Brain Amblurgist!
