The one time I cut my hand on a flower sharp with absurdity it bled shadows. The one time I bled shadows I counted them leaking into a sky full of ceilings but no chandelier. 2-4-6-infinity! I counted them forever, hatching into horizon’s mauve eye. The one time I counted to infinity I lost count of all my future selves in the interim, in an Anteroom of a needle in which I wandered alone. The one time I lost count of my future selves in the interim of an Anteroom I was old enough to know it was too late to count myself young and beautiful. The one time I was no longer young and beautiful I inherited from my father a knife made of keen & glittering butterflies, winking full of feral midnight. The one time I flung a feral midnight at a stranger with my winking butterfly knife made of glittering butterflies that I inherited from my father I mistook a piece of paper for a mirror & incidentally mistranslated myself. The one time I mistranslated myself I lit a wolf so high on helium it caged a language brigade into my empire. The one time my imperial language cage busted I accidentally fluttered a rupture, fractured a valve a faucet so thick with flux it grew into an imaginarium. The one time my imaginarium bloomed a burst was born, a book that set sail into so-&-so. The one time my so-&-so sailed its catlike spell was cast, a furry fury engine technically. When my cat, for all intents & purposes that was an engine, mused a mewl of counterfeit heavens, that one & only time I accidentally raptured a felonious feline, it ricocheted into an eternity