PENNE is “an extruded type of pasta” best eaten in a
GLADE. It has “cylinder-shaped pieces,” which, with a
CRICK of the fork, you can flick hither and yon in a
MANLY way. “Their ends are cut at an angle.”
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ludic verbosity for the win
PENNE is “an extruded type of pasta” best eaten in a
GLADE. It has “cylinder-shaped pieces,” which, with a
CRICK of the fork, you can flick hither and yon in a
MANLY way. “Their ends are cut at an angle.”
CRICK right through, greensward either side.
PENNE being cooked by centaur for dryad audience,
MANLY creature, healer, yet shy before no art, thus
GLADE becomes unlikeliest stage for reality food show.
CRICK, PENNE, MANLY, GLADE
One
STILT for the one-legged
ABBOT to balance on. One
CHAIR for the Abbot to sit on, in
MAUVE, the Abbot’s number one colour.
CHAIR, plush, untortuous.
MAUVE, or red, but oh so comfy!
ABBOT would like it back, please,
STILTed way of saying: unexpected inquisition requisition.
CHAIR, MAUVE, ABBOT, STILT
FETCH! I yell at my mooching dog,
BERTHa. This no-longer-puppy is ever-the-
IDLER. She saunters round in her own
ORBIT. The stick lies stuck in the mud.
IDLER, came to senses, nowhere, tangled in a thicket.
BERTH then took on freighter, crowded among other lost souls.
ORBIT left, all is blackness dotted by sharp star light. Does he
FETCH up on new shore, new understanding? Does he find a guide?
IDLER, BERTH, ORBIT, FETCH
MISSY, I miss you a lot, my sunshine, moonshine
OVINE. This, your resting place, your supine space, midst yellow
BROOM – a kind of womb with heaps of room – where your
SOAPY wool now cools, while my soul’s a darkroom full of gloom.