The nimbostratus moth wings out west has become the undulating Rorschach test I’ve expected for months. It’s hard to tell where it all begins—where that exam ends. I know Fall like dreamers know the ocean floor peace and the aquamarine torpor of the Kraken’s embrace—like the stray dog seeks the burlap solace in a hollow log after a morning of fruitless looting. The hound knows: ear cocked with the hope of a far our howl; nose to the ground as he crosses the dead-bladed plain of this frost-peppered property. He returns to the remains of his hermetic campsite hidden in a wooded nook, and to the comfort of that aforementioned oak. Our pup props his jaw upon his paws and joins the dreamers —drifting off against the green-glow fire made of femurs. Things began deteriorating after the dog got knocked up. Of course, Lewis only made this association after it was too late. Doing the gestational math—one of the only reliably rational methods that proved useful to Lewis in this particular predicament—the dog had certainly been impregnated on the night he and Maggie had gone sledding on Hatcher Hill.
What do You think about Ghouljaw And Other Stories?
