Taking card stock #3

Thy cypher sits between the dragon and the meerkat. Appearance is everything when power must be judged at a distance, and instantaneously. The silk fruit weaved by hand so that it can be hung without regard. What hums but an overhead fluorescent light, casting a shadow among the desk lamps. There is no medication for the worms that have crawled inside—every ear a crinkling of cellophane, and every thought a potential meal, so it is best not to do too much thinking, lest you instigate an outbreak. And what then would the shallow husk do but warm a seat and increment some numbers—not least of which is their own—rolling and tumbling over themselves until at last infinity is reached and the worms can rest, satiated.