Poem-ry

The incomparable Miss. R has once again sucked me into her Charybdis of literary shenanigans.

Please do contribute suggestions here or there to brighten my dull February, darlings.

Doggerel, Seuss or Donne. My sponge-like brain welcomes them all.

wet dream

Last night I'd hoped for oneiric copies of the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili clustered flapping around dream towers like a parliament of tumescent fools (beans? birds?)
(What do you think: Would dream books of dream books cancel each other like doppelgangers or only move on into infinity?)

Instead there were vampires.

But not the "Crime, horror, bitey people and shagging, by God" variety, nor yet the worn velveteen and aphrodisiac-laced spittle kind. These were frightening in the way that only things half-seen can manage.

Sensibly, I locked the door of my neighbors house, ran for the linen closet and hid among the cerements.

Pillow book

Things to be avoided:

Water mills of effluvium pouring like Gin into a prostrate and sodden Gargantua.

Empty and full.

Empty and full.

(His mouth is becoming a round of snoring and scum in burbling parallel.)

Things to be eaten:

Madelines.

And Heartsring plectrums.

Things to be adored:

You