Satchel of Volcanoes: An Entry for a Collective Poem
Darkness falls with a terrible clash, all cymbals and shattering glass. A righteous cacophony spilling over into the light, across the fields of vision, and down the stairs of perception. Drunk again. An exhalation of fur-clad trout in unseemly array flutter forth tut-tutting in falsified remorse as they flee the gnashing teeth of dim-eyed doves perched solemnly upon the heaped and humped backside of the invading clown prince.