Missing Wizards

The ghost on her precipice. Ponders the distance. Between then and now. Obsolete semantics conjure defeated gods in their stained nightgowns. What once was heaven is hell now.

The truth professes to know what it wants. In awkward stabs at primitive ethics. It was easy to manipulate them. And it still is.

The piglets with their houses to build. Wear the fairy tale on their brow. The forest. With its abundance of trees still sees her somehow. Her empty basket. Her red hood. Poorly managing her breasts, As strange fingers ensue.

The tin man looking for the heart he's always had. She wakes him. To ask. Is it different now.