“Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?”
(Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, III. ii. 63-65.)
If one is a rodent, I would guess Fancy is bred in the better class of trash can. Remember Templeton at the Fair?
I went for the obvious sense of blade. I could have gone for blade of grass, or shoulder blade, or even roller blade (that one could have been fun), but sometimes the blatant meaning works best. As we approach Hallowe’en, the definition with the potential for menace seemed to suit. We’ll see where it leads.
This poem emerges as sort of stream-of-consciousness installments. I looked up images of radio waves, hoping for inspiration, and after scrolling and staring at the screen and finding my mind wandering off, I finally thought that some of the depictions reminded me of the grooves in pumpkins. So the radio waves may be emanating from today’s pumpkin, or from the “bulky remnants” below, or both. I tried to make them meld into the wisps.
Well, so far, so good. I didn’t spill water on the page, nor did I set it on fire, nor did I misspell anything. I will say that drawing wisps wasn’t easy, nor did I find a satisfactory way to do so. All I could think of was fog. We’ll see where the wisps lead us.
