| These Recurring Deaths |
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| Fractured Story Telling | |||
| Written by Francis Scudellari | |||
| Monday, 16 February 2009 12:35 | |||
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These recurring deaths brought down by drowsing shade, Hypnos who nightly stalks him, catches him, carries him away to puzzle-piece landscapes; odd bits jammed together, seeming crudely fit with hasty fingers... Time again dropped 'neath paint-smear sky: purple-black dotted with pink-white. A speckled canvas further smudged by thick-limbed clouds that hover over claw-hammer trees, screw-top bushes; hills' sparse stubble he stumbles through... As he chases familiar shapes, shifting glimpses of strange beings; their vaguely human faces topped with twisted horn or ragged mane; misshapen escorts who lead him across rock shoulders, mossy backs... Toward a close-cropped clearing where, gathered with shepherding eyes, they watch him, welcome him, offer him sips from stick-carved ladles and spoons they dip deep in green, soupy streams to coax him to forgetfulness... Weak-willed, he drinks serenaded by an elemental chorus; some airy, some hot, some mildewed, all mismatched voices borne aloft on ancient tongues whose wings beat a steady pulse, that brings him back ... To panderer clock's up-swept hands pushing the rhythmic details of a new waked sun's rosy allure; her plying whispers that draw out his sharp-splinter want for a day when evening's pause never ends.
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