Cosmic Scrabble

The other evening, feeling anxious about the future, I decided to play two games of chance. Following the usual rules, I used up all my letters and divined what I could from the resulting words. This did little to allay my fears.

‘Ripe wax, rinsy in the heat, has soused the white yeti who grits his ursine teeth. Oh! Hoist me up the mast and I will sink my talons, razor-crafted and keen, into that veiny howler. And a nation begot from Eve will rise from the sinkpit in towers built from gum and jam; eyes gummed and jammed. The leech will be drained, the elixir rafted to other vials, and we will join the ibex and the emu on the dank moor, in the zeal of their ritual gripe. A nuanced duet; who will forbear?’

Drawing featured in The Fold Issue 6: The Future


~ by Ruth A Clinton on September 11, 2011.

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