the lines on the wall look like a peregrine falcon diving after its prey (III)

Why does it always start with bone and ashes? Why not spoons or chalk? Language has been reduced to a handful of words, all of them desolate. Limit the construct and instead of building a platform you build a box. Any idiot can build a box. Four walls and you’re done. Do better. Do better.

Let’s construct a language made entirely of ellipses. Do not spell out love or stars or bouillabaisse or severed or moustache. Do not dance or suggest joy. Do not show gratitude. Do not care.

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--end.

Sing the song that comes to corpses. The only thing to do with an abandoned town is burn it down. After feeding the limbs to the creature in the water, you learn that despite the great poetic image, the creature is just sludge that periodically rises to the surface when stirred up. So much for the poetic image. So much for offerings. The smell of death is not unpleasant. The smell of failure is. Sing the song that comes to corpses, sing it, sing it.