Walking the blue fields, finding Merlin.
Wisp cap stalks turn to slime undertoe.
Agape, the mouths of caves sing, reverberating cords
down their throats to their heaving chests.
The soft patter of his curl tipped boots,
like dandelion dust on the grotto grass,
nothing but an ethereal whisper. There is magic
in science, they say. I agree, there is magic
inside it like there is cud in the mouths of cows
Electricity edging out ectoplasm.
Gallalao's Glassworks garroting Gods.
Merlin makes his way into my boy dreams.
The great adviser as i plunge saber into stone.
"What great strength to stab swords into strata!"
they shout.
I am their God.
Their Un-King
What quest will they send me on next?









