|Random Words Make A Sentence by Steve Snodgrass|
At the behest of heavy appendages, close in. Now that crushed carapace on the roadside,
now those fallen chips on the poker table. A pile of eyes scattering as red trumps green, barrels opening to the thinnest of impossibilities in that crosswise gaze.
Panning wider, we realize we’ve made a rhyme of graven images to serve a less tangible theme. We’re told that death’s jokes rely on making a symmetry of the incongruous. So, a gambler and a turtle walked into a bar…
During the supposition, we arrive at a motto: Deus Vult. Now to assign a moral to the blank before you. Instinctively, each actor felt free to think. Intellectually, we felt bound to deviate. Living this way on paper is no small feat.