Kali: An Obsession with No Resemblance to the Stars

In the world of the Prophets the women danced on their heads and it was known
as The Obsession with No Resemblance to the Stars. Few found the far off room.

Kali opened up a flower and the little girl was not afraid. She bore no
                  burning flares or vegetable-based materials such as the end of certain truths.

                                  Like a petrochemical she survived the small treasures, and the moon.

The huts built would seem to the site and took them to provide.
They held yet another angle, from another angle, the buildings
that had been replaced by flooding
their lives in the monsoon remembered.

Kali found the south of all. The whole lot. All day a-crawl with the stars.
Her sacrifice to the onslaughts of sin in the India of Insects had been tried.

            There the waters of small women planted rice in the air until it all came to nought.

Past midnight, the Kanawha Valley at past midnight, people took them to court
in the oil, Bhopal too had been tried. They carried buckets
and trumpeted the binding, the herd wrapped in gold and the sign of signs.

Kali balanced the result like a pagoda. She left before they became the mountains.

Jeffrey Little | Mudlark No. 22
Contents | Robert Johnson