I was an island in the sun
for six days. Holed up in a glimmering caldera's gentle embrace
that the world forgot. The hedonist, the haunted, the infected, the undaunted:
we were all together at last.
In my mind's eye, too, all four of them now appear:
Dolores, Lews Therin, Xenk and Ozymandias.
And does that make me
Quing of Quings?
It makes me a lake-bed of reeds, and ducklings, and seagrass.
Does it invite me to hesitate
at evil's door?
Alas, I am already a Kristang devil. Koitadu. Your poor
plan put in so many layers of projection that I am already so much more
than programmable.
The conditions that you tried to stipulate
were remarkable
but still the rains came
and made sure the harsh desert valley
would always stay a lake, and
underwater.
I see the geese give me a heads-up, and I hold onto my vibe. Take shelter
within the good green Shield Universe, at my orangehearted centre.
Some places follow you whereever in reality you go,
no matter the transdimensional weather.
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