Sunrise Behind the Heel Stone
Let's workshop this poem about a new-age "druid" at Stonehenge during summer solstice, a quasi-cosplayer who has bought into his own purpose-giving hype (hook, line, and sinker)
Sunrise Behind the Heel Stone The oak-crowned “druid”— Crocs under a white robe— mimes the jerking of wonders from recondite realms, arm flourishes (with micro mudras too similar to sign language faked at press briefings) loud enough for that jumbo ego to buy his own wizard bullshit.
