My Brochure

Here’s my brochure, the brochure I intended long ago, hors d’oeuvres making migrations quaint and nuclear across an expanse of choice, mute indications of mystical obfuscation answering deep howls of basement statuary, mutterings refrigerated by pulsations of ice, something hollow and equal to a loop in a dead man’s pupil, all of it on fire, all of it coming down in ash as flames of information rise to the sky, and all of it handily informational, like all good brochures. Please, come visit my islands, their beautiful shores and guano, their tremendous declensions and unstoppable mastication. Feel private in yourself. Explore the weird geology of my teacup, upended billons of minutes ago by an index finger, and presented to you with open combustion and a maniacal smile. Bathe in a waterfall of pure invention while ice skates nibble on your feet. All this and more will be yours once you arrive, where nothing exists without a little imagination, and the airfare is hypothetical, & the rooms are adorned in a soapy elocution.