A smear campaign starts
against the ladder, which permits?
the ascension, but leaves the spaces in between,
of dark. You stand still.

The hunger becomes the mouth?
of rags. I will come and collect
some numbers.

It was useless to hunker?
after the game. The fear will ultimately
start a monologue.

On bees, I will build a
synopsis. The sleuth always falters
when the moon hides.

A canned script draws the
scorn. The player had become grey?
in dark.

A bunch of mushrooms,
like tall girls, standing
in wind, gossiping.