Sheets of clear liquid wax were running down before the windows of the chancellor hallway. Breakfast hovered on dented trays and stalled. Warped triangles ruled the geometry of the common structures, sending the map into chaos and hurt. Plants, flowers, grew and wilted at once, stretching forth, thickening stems, thickening and darkening sap that sweated and beaded in the furrowed wrinkles of the rind. Brave long-haired Shirley zigzagged the labyrinth to reach the stairs; the clasps of the chains only caught her twice, in the sleeve and her sock. The echo of the slam came back and cracked the concrete wall by the kitchen entry; sallow eyes writhed drowsily from the damage.
Cocky feldspar ran amok and corniced the mudroom; foul tracks spiralled there into the puckered noose and remained reminded. The hair-like abundance of bindings shook in air, for the leaders were all gone on long travels; the cakes unturned at home, burning. Sprouted toes launched upon discourse: host the flies that gather, take the certificates with restraint, bind them in the air with the rest, so we will go to rest.
They made of the flatterer a stock, pinned the seam with a wall made square. Under flagrant patchwork diaries flooded out the store of travels’ dues: made a printed way to draw the beams from the halls, and betook them to the aster, with Shirley among them nursing her arm and leg. They found diagonal bores in effect, and carried them out to the hill; never a lamp shone so clear and liquid, never a sortie was so trialled in the halls.