The pretty felt monkey tore away at Partridge's stony heart while the rest of us kept sponging at our reflections. Buddha's image screamed under brassy swipes.

Mute and naked, we were finally aroused by the din of Nirvana, though the blood on mirrors began to clot.

It was raining wishes but each one shattered into millions upon contact. It was a wishful sight so we clung to religion instead.

We were suckers now and discovered our lolling tongues.

*

My promises splintered like hail.

The flesh-ripe wind swooshed into unknown chambers of my cubicle. It was only when I heard the thump thrill of stuck flesh stirring that I clawed my face, groping to get in and shut the windows.

My footprints abound in the blood-humid must.

Somewhere, somewhere I know the nurse's gown is stained with clots of my Rorschach scheming.

*

It's down to Merlin and me. And the blue whale if you must count it. So we draw straws on the sand and the whale obviously loses. So it disappears down Merlin's pointed hat.

It's down to Merlin and me. And the hat, if you insist.