The Porchlight Prophecies

Porchlight Prophecies- for the Grateful Web

                               By Dustin Smith

 

                     Book III: The Ivory Basins of the Quintlight


 


2. Thunder from the Throne Basin and the Journey to Basin Major


 


Never the nearer,            the Great Being went North


The spider, spun crumpled,   his spirit wrecked.


Janice with joy              jumped to his tail fins


And scuttled his scales,     scraping the floor,


Ice cold from the            corners and crooks


Of the sheer walls           of wicker and black work.


 


The Great Being              belted a belch from the sky


And sat in the North         on a seat with a sigh.


Thunder then rose,           a thorny sound clapped.


The echo enchanted           the Great Being's ego.


A stench startled            and stained the Ivory Basins.


The smell smoldered          and smote the two companions,


Nearly knocking the life     of Octavian to Nevermore.


The face of the Being        feigned frolic and cheer


For the thunderous fog       and fright would not disappear.


 


But Janice ignored this,     sending spells for the spider


To lift himself, healed,     to the hearth of the basins.


Drifting and diving,         the spider defied gravity.


Arctic blasted chill         dared effort from gripping


Heavily ice's jolting        kick, licking moments, never                                            Octavian


Pondered quietly,            realized soon the utter                                                 violence


Wound xylophonically,        yearning zenith.


 


The spider caught concern    from the Great Being's crouch.


Suiting, squid-like fingers  squishing a line,



The Being assumed the beast's beat to the bathtub


The Spider's retreat received less than the reach


For the Being's hand covered a white cloud of paper.


Down went the white mesh     to the white mouth of the                             


                             basin,


And Octavian etched          underneath the ice claw.


Janice hovered asunder       and thunder rose again


From the Being,              feeling the froth to his throne.


 


Magic, mental and majestic,  guided the two,


Traveling treacherously      from the Being's trickery


And into the largest lever   of basin white lily work.


Dancing down the sides       of spider's assumed doom


Into the hole,               the whole world put on hold 


                             'til


The spider could speak       of the spine tube beneath.


From the whispering wind     and dripping walls


A heat healthy, hidden,      filled the spider's fall.


His limbs lingered back      to their ruby red luster,


Mending miraculously         to their proper proportions.


Abdomen ascended             and filled with warm air,


His like turned to lust,     he descended the lair.

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