The Gloopy Glass of the Confi-Chirr klinked as she slithered across the sand. Inside coursed preserves of the maledictions sworn, spit or sung by creatures of the desert. She flung tornadoes from trillings, catastrophe from caws. Poison, sickness and misfortune to the sounds of croaks, bleats and buzzes. She went on conquering when we fell before her sweet and bitter misplaced vengeance, for the nature of the Curse Preserves is to never be abated.

© 2020 Kelly Ishikawa

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