salshep

Go, I said, my mouth full of wormwood, when the lies like larvae crawled out of your wood-work, that rude wooden city you stabled us in, woodlice and mildew, its gates monumentally breached by that old wooden horse-full constructed from wood I never could see for trees. Go, I said, to your wooden face, in a wooden voice, saw-blade tongue spitting chips: I will lop you like deadwood, split you down to heartwood, stack you up for cord-wood and burn you like bridges, like the banged-up wooden idol of a newly ousted god. Go, I said, the word itself a pinewood door colliding with its wooden frame-- and you woodenly went, soundless but for