Today’s prompt, “horses,” took me by surprise. I have odd, mixed feelings about horses. I’ve been to horse camp, a dude ranch; my sister trained a horse in the field I walked through on the way to elementary school every day, but I don’t have much of a fondness for horses. A girl fell during a ride and broke her leg at horse camp, and the horse my sister was training gave her an awful kick. I almost got bucked off during a ride. I guess I see them as unpredictable.
“The alluring scent guides you ever after.” I like the idea of scent and human pheromones, how we fight our natural smells that might be our animal pheromones and yet created an entire industry of scents to attract. This makes me want to re-read Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins again.
“Forever in need . . . Famine or greed?” Though I put a line between these two, this is a question that defines everyone’s life: philosophy, religion, politics, everything is need, but the question is why do we need and how do we fulfill those needs. Needs and choices for need fulfillment define every story.
Will my feelings about horses, and falling through the cracks combine in a night of needs and greed?
The Cascade form has a fun repetition that should work well with sonic surrender.
A Darkness Falls
tonight’s moonlight falls falls through the cracks the cracks in the panes
shadows gallop through starlight like wild horses across the walls tonight’s moonlight falls
rushing like waterfalls spreading darkness heavy falls falls through the cracks
blindly crawling over tacks tracks bleed familiar paths tracking the cracks in the pain.
Logline: An arrogant gossip hears noises coming from his shower. Exploring the drain isn’t enough, after cutting a whole through the floor, he finds that his problems run much deeper.
Today I’m going to attempt to let the story grow in my subconscious by ignoring it today. Like saying “Don’t think about an elephant,” makes you picture an elephant, don’t think about my story, think about anything but my story, should get ideas rumbling around for drafting tomorrow.
With all the birds and little bats in the area, I thought there would be owls about, but I haven’t seen any. Now that I made an owl filter, I can put owls in the trees and all over the lake. I’ll fill this place with owls when the rain stops. For now, I’ll play with my wisdom of indoor owls.
Today’s prompt is “End-Stopping.” I find this constraint intriguing in combination with sonic surrender, since sonic surrender has been all about flow. How will it feel to put stops in that flow, like large stones in a river? It also asks about stops and endings. What do I want to stop, to end? And when it stops, what will begin?
I dance on air without care. My face aches joy, smiles to spare.
I spin, dizzy and sick with love. Stop the ride! I want to get off.
Is an end but a bend in the road? A pause in my perceptual code?
Suspense lies between feeling and action. My gut lost to the free-fall of passion.
That’s not the same ecstasy I yearn for now. The burn in my mind combines rich words I’ve found.
I climb to new heights as I fight gravity’s pull. Where my rhyme-rhythms collide with clouds, I stay fueled.
So I turn and I twirl, as in flight, round every bend. My perceptions connect spaces and make shapes again.
Since this weeks twitter chats were both chatting about NaNoWriMo, and I’m looking at plotting today, I thought I’d look back at my detailed NaNoWriMo posts from 2017 for inspiration. Those posts are filled with great prompts, exercises and links.
Logline: An arrogant gossip hears noises coming from his shower. Exploring the drain isn’t enough, after cutting a whole through the floor, he finds that his problems run much deeper.
Opening image/MC’s world: Is the entire story in the bathroom, or do I open with my professor gossiping in class? Maybe the opening scene is him entering the bathroom on his cellphone gossiping about his students or other teachers. Who is he speaking to? Is it the dean with a complaint?
Inciting incident: hears noises in the shower
Refusal: thinks something is stuck in the drain
Meeting the mentor: watches favorite DIY guru video on phone
Point of no return: there is no drain, no pipe, nothing
Tests, Allies & Enemies : I may have a little fun with my setting. Is the toilet a friend or foe? Is the bathtub complaining or offering Sage advice? 🤔
Approach to the inmost cave: false achievement – cuts hole in floor
The ordeal: Has to face childhood trauma of animal attack–an opossum or a skunk, those would both be scary. Then, while he’s freaking out, the animal gossips about him in familiar voices?
Reward: finally sees the harm of his fault, but that’s only the beginning.
The road back: I think the complaint from the dean at the beginning will become a physical threat.
The resurrection: He jumps through the hole he made into the terrifying space under the bathroom floor to hide from the victim of his loose lips and thoughtlessness.
Return with the elixir: he tells the student/other teacher something terrible about himself to save his own life, but then the gossip makes his life unlivable.
Making progress. I like the turn this took at the end, bringing one of his gossip victims in as his judgement. I have my theme: loose lips have consequences. And my turn: when he has to face his childhood trauma. I’ll work on a chiastic outline and share what I come up with tomorrow.
For Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge “blood,” I played with some fun color filters. For the image above, I used a red lens that screws onto my camera lens. When I put on the red lens, I forgot I was also using a color filter built into my camera that captures everything in black and white except for the color red. Somehow, that turned a small portion of the sky gray ( I think that’s a little mountain peeking through the clouds) .
This morning as I thought about lids, I kept coming to put a lid on it, put a lid on me, but the first post I read went to blow the lid off. Do I feel I have already twisted the lid off the jar, escaped confines and would be contained, silenced, quieted, tamed, while she sees enclosures, full of pressures building, fermenting, fomenting that without poked air-holes must explode? And upon removing the lid what truth does she expect to reveal? Something both sweet and sour, bubbling and gassing, I assume. . . I keep thinking of jars, twisting lids, but boxes have lids, bins have lids, tupperware lids seal freshness in, treasure chests have lids on hinges, a lid can also be a cover, close something up/away, also good for stacking, flattening, a lid contains a collection, defining as finished, meant to stop the growth, slow additions, unwanted admissions.
Maria L. Berg 2021
I found the brain lid and red goo of my zombie candy from the other day as a perfect symbol for today’s prompts.
Today’s prompt is to explore what we do to relax and recharge. The 2018 prompt was “Love,” not only passionate but all forms of love: “platonic, familial, charitable (think compassion; love for strangers/animals/etc), and self-love (think self-esteem and confidence).” So some self-love for relaxation and rejuvenation while I think about blood and lids.
Keep your mouth shut shut mouth, eyes open open eyelids stay put put a lid on it it being knowledge the ledge you know know your container tamer of motion the motion of notions potions from mouth to ears ears to fears can’t roam roaming fears cause panic panicked people lash lash out and run amok amok-running is not ideal ideals have boundaries boundaries lined and ruled rules measured building pressure pressure from every side sides provide surfaces surfaces to bounce off and collide colliding with others feeling trapped trapped and bombarded by projectiles projections of expectations expectations and rejections hurt and hurt feelings grow grow under the sealed lid the lid now visibly bowed bowed out, expanding, from pressure pressure from gasses unable to escape escape here, escape now, how how to blow the lid off off-gas the soreness the sore, tight tension and retain some gains gain clarity and sincerity while letting loose losing the lid but not the liquid liquidity of fluidity intact intact in the flow the vessel emptied emptied anticipating filling or filled with happy nothingness now now in this lid-less moment this moment of free ions ionic charges attract things attracting opposites
I think this is going to be a very close, closed story of guilt and obsession. A first-person POV with only one character in one setting, a small bathroom. So, I thought I would start with character development this time.
My protagonist is Sage Manos, a chemistry professor who looks like a giant starfish with obsessive elbows. He has odd speech patterns because he’s always saying “but, anyway” and never finishing what he is saying. His destructive flaw is arrogance. His constant gossiping and only thinking of himself have made it hard for him to keep a job. He’s hoping this fixer-upper in a new town will be a fresh start.
His epiphany “once you learn the truth, there’s no going back” combined with his suspicious behavior of spying on people could be interesting for the plot. The trauma of an animal attack when young and his secret money stash could both tie in with the image.
I still need to figure out his story want, the dramatic question, theme and turn, but I think I’ll be ready to brainstorm plot points and play with an outline tomorrow.
For Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge “fog,” I jumped out of bed and was rewarded with a little morning fog on the lake. I love the pareidolia of a giant ghost bat in the trees over that mysterious light in the water.
I love how a photograph through the fog made this house look like a painting. All I did was crop the photo.
Here we are starting our second week already. Today’s prompt didn’t appeal to me (my whole life is either before or after the storm), so I took a look back at 2018. I like the prompt Moments of Madness. I didn’t respond to it in 2018, so now’s my chance.
If I truly surrender to love (of words and sound), will it be in a moment of madness that I glimpse genius: perhaps not genius, but the genuine, truth, my truth, the elusive in which I would choose to surrender forever?
Twine Twirling in the Fog
Flowing fog, the groggy morning mist kissing frogs of lingering madness, mysteries shrouded through history fester with testimony slogging along with hints, tinted glints glimmering lint littering winter darkness bringer, but the crazed found ways through the maze, a chance to dance along the fine line between life and divine and entwine the obsessed with the possessed inner-child and beguiled within this damned pestilence of tormented sadness within a ballet of blessings where delicious gets messy, fomenting malicious decisions for salacious reasons, or threads of sanity. Is it sanity clinging that hinders full progression to wild recession reminders in the cinders that logic, though toxic, still reigns in this brain still clinging to meaning, never truly trusting surrender? The twine though unraveled and taut twirls between my fingers never released, teases the flowing fog burns then ceases to be.
The first story
I named the first story of this Writober “But No One Died This Year.” Here’s an excerpt from the draft:
Rafael had to admit that Reese could even make a boar costume look sexy. The tusks jutting along her high cheekbones had accentuated her smile; the shadow from the snout protruding from her forehead made her brown eyes even bigger; and the spiky, glow-in-the-dark fur stripe down her back drew the eye to her tight, curved tail.
She had traipsed so lightly before she tripped, but her bloodied body curled in the wheelbarrow was heavy. Every rock, rut, and twig unbalanced the dead-weight of muscle and bones. The blade of the rusting shovel mercifully covered her face. Full concentration and determination were the only things that kept him readjusting and pushing forward.
The sound of snorting, snout rooting through dead leaves and underbrush, was all he could hear. He thought it was his guilt, bringing Reese’s costume to life, but then he heard footsteps.
Maria L. Berg 2021
The second story
I’m feeling intrigued by the image and microstory from October 14th last year. The image is by Gregory Crewdson. His cinematic scenes are great for story inspiration. Here’s the microstory I wrote:
He couldn’t stand that scraping sound under the bathroom floor for another day. He chiselled through the tile, and cut through the wood. He gripped the hammer, prepared for something to run out: a mouse, a rat, even a opossum, but nothing came. The scratching continued. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. He grabbed his flashlight and slowly reached down.
Maria L. Berg 2020
Like last week’s story, this image and microstory present an intriguing image, but leave the real story untold. This week, I’ll attempt to remedy that.
During the first #Writober, I wrote a story about something found in a crawlspace. I’ll give it a read and see if the ideas can combine.
Let’s see. What questions arise when I look at this picture? Why did he dig through the bathroom floor? Is he one of those people who refuses to call a plumber? Did he bury something there in the past and is trying to get it back? Did he find out that someone else buried something there? Is he hoping to find something that someone else buried and thinks it’s there? Is this the spot where a sound or smell is coming from? Maybe the linoleum started bubbling up in that spot, or a tile kept hopping around?
Upon closer look, is he supposed to be reaching down the shower drain and there’s nothing there? And why is the cupboard under the sink open? And what’s up with the medicine cabinet over the sink? And the two white lights in the photo, what are those? I think Pinterest is trying to sell me his shower and medicine cabinet, so that’s just plain meta-weird.
There’s a lot to play with there. I have an obsessive do-it-yourselfer with a scary bathroom. Do I need to do some plumbing research? Maybe. Taking a look at A. M. Moscoso’s Halloween Prompt Challenge I might include:
A terrifying dark place, such as a basement, attic, or cellar
Fear of and contact with spiders or snakes
A repetitive scary noise without any apparent source
and maybe my DIYer could be
a Weird new neighbours with a secret
who finds out he had a close relative he knew nothing about that was insane
For Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge “zombie,” I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m not a fan of dead people walking around trying to eat my brain, so I avoid them. Yesterday, however, I had to go to the store, so I took a look at the slim Halloween offerings (my local Walgreen’s shelves were quite bare), and found a few fun zombies. This morning, I hopped out of bed and “unboxed” my wind-up zombie that poops candy. What a great way to start the day.
Today’s prompt is about finding balance. Living a creative life, it often feels like everything I do is work, and that I’m always working. However, I’m working at the things I love, and I am always playing (or should be). It’s a sad part of the human condition that ecstasy wears off. Everything, no matter how wonderful and enjoyable, becomes work eventually. How do I find that sweet spot where I’m improving, but still ecstatically enjoying the process?
The Balance looks like a fun form. I’m going to give it a try.
Waking the Zombies
talons balanced on live wires ignite fires slicing and dicing upon flight sparks in the dark excite my mushy mind to find
a sign for these dark times every monster alive alert and flirting for brain-bites meets ancient rites and smoke-filled skies from pyres
carefree banshees alarm like squealing tires mired in blood the body still fights a dance of duck and dive freezing fear climbs and chimes
through grime I design crimes against the monstrotized the zombie hoard, now bored, alights talons balanced on live fire-wires ignite
That form was fun, but didn’t feel like surrender, so I’m going to try a Cadralor to further explore my yearning for balance. Over at dVerse Poets Pub Björn challenges us to try this poem form made of 5, unrelated, numbered stanzas created by the editors of Gleam.
1. moans and groans fill the blood-red morning waking bones creak, seeking footing then should-ing begins even before pouring the mind-pricking poison
2. a dalliance with the day’s events sends me scurrying through tales regaling reveries, new discoveries, I flit like a feather until sore eyes and worry lines retether
3. in the carnage brain-eaters stain two-seaters like teenagers on a rampage hearty to party after, their bodies teeter entranced like plants to a heater, a sunbed of the well-fed undead
4. slanted light heightens delight as I search out the angles and tangles to represent my vision without derision or indecision I click and snap intending dissection
5. The swell and the crest of the wave rolling through each making day at play equivalent gold dishes chained, swinging fiercely alive, tamed, murdered, revived
For today’s prompt at Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge, “treat,” I reworked the mouth of my Jack-o-lantern bokeh filter. Since my treat today is going to be homemade butternut squash soup, I thought I’d try my idea of putting jack-o-lantern faces on my squash. And it worked! So fun.
Since treats are usually associated with taste, other than the soup, I wanted to think of treats for all of my other senses. I’m thinking of reading Salman Rushdie in a nice bath with lavender epsom salts while listening to piano classic records, then putting on my footie pajamas and playing with paint. That might have to happen.
Today’s prompt asks what we do to achieve our dreams. The chess piece (representing strategies) made me think of a great puzzle I designed for Artifact Puzzles.
Tyukanov Cheshire Cat has Alice in Wonderland inspired whimsies including chess pieces. I love that the thickness of the wood allows the pieces to stand up. Wooden jigsaw puzzles are definitely a special treat.
The suggested form is a Villanelle. With its repetition, it might work nicely with sonic surrender.
In 2018 I didn’t write a poem for the day 6 prompt “Conquered.” The prompt asks the question: Does love conquer all, or is love just a battlefield? With words and poetry as the focus of love, I would have to settle squarely on both. “Conquers” has some great sonic surrender potential.
Strategies of Perpetual Patience
Fear’s conquered contours linger on my fingers eternal patience fills the room with ginger blossoms and persistence tastes like plum-halves straight from the freezer their sweetness teases my teeth but fear conquered, I risk fleeting pain and am rewarded unguarded I eat my treats at my seat meeting defeat to the beat of my talking drum squeezing it between my thigh and side to hear it sing and sigh, a seesaw of highs and lows, to and fro the daily dance, love’s caveat emptor of risks taken leaps leapt, hopes kept to on-lookers bonkers I endure and conquer
(I guess the Villanelle will have to wait for another day)
While figuring out my plot points and filling in my outline, I got curious about what the “obligatory scenes” of the horror genre are, so I headed over to StoryGrid.com and found Secrets of the Horror Genre.
Looking at the horror genre conventions, I would say, so far so good. I have a huge power divide between my body-burier protagonist, Rafael, and a mystical wild boar monster. Rafael is unable to escape the isolated forest and small village. Rafael is actively burying Reese in the woods and following/interacting with the man and the boar. The idea of a giant boar protecting a forest and needing human sacrifice every fall is pretty improbable. If the boar isn’t satisfied, it will lash out and kill the villagers.
Both Rafael and the reader (and me at this point) don’t know what the boar and the man with it will do. Rafael’s goal to stay alive and not be damned is a common goal. The boar cannot be reasoned with and I think Rafael will remember Reese telling him that it cannot be defeated (speech in praise of the monster). Rafael will be the last one standing/ live to tell the tale and I’ll need to end with an implication that the boar will be back.
So there we have it. Characters and an outline. Time to start the draft. Here’s the logline for this horror masterpiece: The man selected to bury this Halloween’s sacrifice to Anouk, the wild boar that protects the forest, has to face the price of mocking superstition, and ignoring tradition.
How’s that for a trick? I found a simple healthy dark chocolate recipe, and a Halloween chocolate mold (glad I had one skull left, I already ate all the pumpkins). I think those little people are supposed to be cherubs (other chocolate mold), but I choose to see them as people running in terror.
Today’s prompt, Follow you path wherever it may lead was the focus of my August “Pathways” project. I think most of you have already watched it, but if you haven’t, I read two poems about pathways over my original music and a video of bokeh footprints. So I’ll choose a different path and look at the 2018 prompt for Day 5: Denied. “Denied” has a great sonic quality. I used it in a song I wrote a long time ago called “Dry Your Eyes.” Here’s the first verse and chorus.
I hadn’t planned on sharing the song, but I’m enjoying listening to it, so I thought you might too. Does it sound like “denied?” I sure think so, but I’m a bit biased.
In 2018 I wrote a short poem called “Denied” exploring all the senses of “denied.” I like the smell I came up with. So I’ve got a sound and a smell (laundry left in the wash overnight). But what is the texture of denied? Slippery, I think. I remember trying to get out of a pool of water that had been a treacherous jump to get into. The rocks were too slick and I couldn’t get out. It took one person pulling me from above and another pushing from below (embarrassing) before I finally found a foothold.
The taste? For me, cilantro. And these days, “denied” looks like rejection letter after rejection letter. The joy of the life of a fiction writer.
So I have my senses wrapped around “denied.” How do I sonically surrender to it? What’s the trick? Bring it back to this love of words and poetry. Accept that being denied is part of the process of the path I’m on. Let’s see what happens.
I opened the washing machine and I faced
forgotten laundry, wet, rotten, and tawdry sodden limp bodies, whirled cotton underthings left too long, waft wrong
a sharp reminder of efforts denied intentions resigned, redefined dallies-dillied, willies-nillied, paths-a-wandered time squandered, thoughts pondered monkeyshined attention bamboozled to other directions
but funkified clothes are but a sigh and an eye-roll a stale-fail waste of soap and water but taken in stride those whites get another ride the flunk undone and a battle soon won
I did my character sheets: Time-consuming, but fun. I love when the random selections fit the character I have in mind, almost as much as when they create conflict in the character.
All my characters have names now. Harvey is gone. My dead body is now name Reese Tribble. She was the school nurse of the small village, but got murderously greedy. The wheelbarrow man is named Rafael Minghella. He was an introverted ap designer who thought Reese was his best friend. Anouk, the mystical wild boar, protector of the forest, is an egocentric idealist whose destructive flaw is impatience, has a bad habit of snacking, and is afraid of the number four. Anouk is accompanied by Boonam Funk who is also impatient and egocentric and is moved by evil forces.
The story so far:
Every year on Halloween night, the people of a small village by an ancient forest bury the body of someone recently deceased deep in the forest as an offering for Anouk, the mythical wild boar that protects the forest. This year, however, no one has died and people are beginning to worry about Anouk’s wrath. Raphael Minghella, this year’s designated body burier, doesn’t believe in Anouk, and gets in an argument with his friend Reese, the school nurse who has been offered a lot of money to “come up with” a body. Reese doesn’t like the way Raphael is looking at her, and assumes his lustful pass at her is an attempt to strike first. She evades him in such a way that she slips and impales herself on his high hat stand. He decides to bury her in the forest and try to collect the money she was offered. On his way out of the forest, he sees Boonam Funk, the man with Anouk, approaching.
As you can see, the micro-story has expanded, but I still haven’t gotten to the real story. What happens to Raphael? To the village? Where is the fear and horror of the story?
At the moment, I still think the story is from Raphael’s point of view and starts as he is leaving the forest. Maybe it starts with his thoughts as he is burying his friend, and the turn of the story is when he sees Anouk and Boonam approaching. Since everything with Reese happened because he didn’t believe in Anouk and she did, his world view would completely change.
Okay, I think I’m getting somewhere. Rafael’s main fears are separation and dying which are pretty universal fears, so I’ll dig into those fears as my themes. Now that I have my themes and my turning point, I can get started on a chiastic outline. This article “The Strength of a Symmetrical Plot” does a good job of explaining chiastic structure and has a great example created by Susan Raab using the story of Beauty and the Beast. I created a similar worksheet for myself to print out and use to brainstorm my story outlines. Hopefully I’ll have a completed one to show you tomorrow
set in stone a tome, a tomb slow to erode unmoved by storm’s wet starved moan leftovers torn forlorn, stone cold bones hold known tones strummed by the stubborn turned to stone struck, stuck outta luck stored enduring alone a stone’s throw from home
Today’s Quadrille #137 prompt from De Jackson at dVerse is to “carve a poem out of the word stone.” The Quadrille is a poem of 44 words. (Images taken by me this evening. The light was really nice. Glad I went searching for stones)
Today’s theme for #tshalloweenchallenge is Skeleton. I’m so glad I found this challenge yesterday. I’m finding it very inspiring. Yesterday, I started looking through my Halloween fabrics and today, I started playing with my Halloween decorations. For once in a long while, my Halloween might not feel rushed and last minute.
Today’s prompt is about the turning of the season. In the word prompts “change of direction” speaks to my interest in forces (In physics, a force is an influence that can change the motion of an object – Wikipedia) and peripeteia (noun – a sudden turn of events or an unexpected reversal, especially in a literary work). I also like “fresh starts” and “cool nights.”
In 2018 the prompt was “_________________ and other strange animals.” In my journaling this morning, I remembered it as wild animals and for some reason I’ve decided my skeleton is a wild animal. The poem I wrote back in 2018 “The Guilty Man and Other Animals” also removed the word strange, and the imagery is definitely more in the wild, or feral category.
I don’t think I explored the prompt much back then because I’ve never read My family and other Animals by Gerald Durrell or seen the film. I watched the first ten minutes this morning and I think I will enjoy it.
The suggested form was Kennings which will be a great compliment to sonic surrender. A Kenning is a two-word phrase describing and object through metaphor. The example given often is “whale-road” meaning “sea” from Ezra Pound’s The Seafarer.
What a great way to get the mind thinking metaphorically and to generate imagery. I’m so glad I came back to this prompt and really played with it.
So much to play with: surrender to sound, repetition of the Pantoum and metaphor-fun of Kennings. Here we go!
The Bone-train Symphony
I listen for the tones of my X-ray-whites the meatless-me meanders along the tracks the bone-train, pops and grinds when gravity fights groans and moans, creaks and cracks
the meatless me meanders along the tracks a shell of elemental elegance sketched groans and moans, creaks and cracks a schism, a radiation-picture etched
a shell of elemental elegance sketched rattling, prattling, tattling organ-armor a schism, a radiation-picture etched why does action bring on such a clamor?
rattling, prattling, tattling organ-armor the bone-train pops and grinds in gravity’s fight why does action bring on such a clamor, a cacophony of tones from my X-ray-whites?
So far I came up with an idea: A man coming out of the forest with a wheelbarrow and a shovel passes a man in dark goggles and a leather trench-coat, carrying a large suitcase and leading a tusked boar by a sheer scarf. Okay, that’s not really an idea, more of an intriguing image.
Then I did some research and found that there is mythology around boars as protectors of forests and that they are tenacious and hard to kill (especially if supernatural 😉). They may symbolize luck and fulfilling desire for some, but betrayal for others which fits well into a story.
The collective noun for boars is a Herd, a Singular, or a Sounder; as in how did this boar get separated from his singular? Or why did this boar choose the company of a man over his sounder? Yeah, anything other than “herd” would probably just confuse the reader.
Then I started to develop my characters. I need another day to develop these characters, so I’m going to put off theme and outline until tomorrow.
Any of you working on fun spooky story ideas for #Writober?
Since I missed Pumpkin and monster, here’s my pumpkin that has a parasitic monster (again):
Today’s prompt Bats reminded me of a poem I wrote during NaPoWriMo 2018 called “Be Forewarned: Expect Vespertilian Behavior.” I really like the word vespertilian (adjective – of, relating to , or resembling a bat), so I thought I would try a sonic surrender poem around it.
The Darkest Night with the Most Stars
vespertilian magician whisper when aeolian again though never panglossian portend an elysian end before returning to your den
obsidian musician of the night observing through your own echoes in flight, repeated, reflected, frequencies I pen this pleasure as I remember lightlessness, sitting tranquilly
singing wild in the field to the stars when you swooped and smacked, whacked me in the forehead, little confused, amusing fruit bat you sit in my memory still.