Chin head, I and I and Me

      chin head, i and i and me

I and I lit another cow dung, dived from the rocks into his lotus pond, melted and relaxed.
" Do you think?",
little i aksed, his tongue resting on his pallette  as he lapped.
"dont talk to me about landscapes!".
Chin head smacked i with a lath from the pond.

(il dip into this tale before we jump on the train {OUR LUGGAGE!!} and carry on
with our journey so magnificently simultaneous and strange)
cough, cough; 100 million stars, let me invite you, to allow me, to divulge a small increment
of chin heads moment on this plane.... 
during his studies with the trees, chin head had once troubled an acorn; "do you think little seed? what will become of you with age? what will change?",
Well we waited, me, i and chin; the acorns dissapeared and once a year, reared again
and smiled at the students but no answer came.
then within an instant, after the time had tied themselves around chin; and the
movements had staked there claim on the furthest mountains, the closest celestials
and dantes treasure maps; a tired old oak sprang out of the questioned seed: 
 
"dont you recall what our mother does? go talk with her,
we think like the mud or the feather from the bird
we think with the thoughts that drive movements to herd."

back to it, it, being where chin head and i could be seen from space and me being the
narrative;

" Do you think?",
little i aksed, his tongue resting on his pallette  as he lapped.
"dont talk to me about landscapes!". Chin head smacked i with a lath from the pond.

when i and i resurfaced chin was on his back his eyes all thinking and his noise,
was like just that;
"your branches spread out from the moon daisies, lady, curling up my legs;loving me like
the mast of homers odysee. my ears burning i could here the dregs bottoming my glass, the
polyphonic tones of 3 sisters, the ice caps, thats where you took me the last time those
branches grasped we ran across ac crack in the air and the sisters sons looked on;
fat cats, beaming, eyes began to turn to steam in that first sunset moon light star rise hour
branding me reborn perhaps i fell out of one of those pregnant sun's.
spitting me on to a beauteous lawn....


in progress


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Cracklature, so they say1 jumped from the turtles back long before the movements and time had chance to bind them; with promises of romance and sand dances and trust I, they tried!

Now, to achieve such feet, crafty crackle played just sixty four tricks.
Tricks of the most magnificent mind that some, if not all times had seen and so ensued an insurance scam that left poor turtle nude
(and may i add very much green; for he had wished to see more than the worlds cheeks for many seeds and had been stuck, struck by the changing windssss.....
friends excuse me i digress)


Ok so directions, right.
Imagine that mystical creature, the dusty moth king, Actias Luna avoiding strings of finger tip rains and dancing the fools rumba amusing the Moons gaze, yes? Now try if you can envisage those rambunctious young friends, Mr Time et Sir Movements, chasing wee Cracklature's tail...

Footnotes
1  although, who they are,is a preposterous notion. A farce fantastical in a time when they were not entirely sure of theyselves or each other. Catch what they spout, little stars, very carefully, and with gloves where possible. I suppose just lets place them long before chins whiskers had curled.