I don’t know how you feel about the matter, but Kallallath the Mindful is fond of saying in that soggy, lecturing voice of hers, “Sanity’s really overrated,” as she laps the brains of his sacrificial victims down her beak.

Maybe she’s right. I try not to think about such things. Thinking tends to make her hungry.

Here’s a poem.

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I.

Our faces are masks
Trappings of total strangers
We’re not who we seem

II.

“Love disarmed us both.
Hearts in hands, we lost our heads.
We fell to pieces.”

III.

“A good tailor’s work
Is more than fabric and thread.
The suit makes the man.”

IV.

“Lucy says I’m free.
Cured of my insanity,
I’m a new woman.”

V.

“Tiny souls inside
Tiny bodies. Each mimics
Our humanity.”

VI.

Crack open our skulls
Out spills blood and bone and brains.
Alas, no marbles.

 

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