he hasn't yet written down the mad hens there's still one more dot missing above the grave of the world Twilight married to the widow of contrast The rustle of acts of betrayal files right, left, damaged, inscrutable the lung still has the desire for inspiration the plan still plans to make a fool of itself stale pills of promises powder of strychnine and glitter and those devious excuses those shrill, mocking poses a deluge of kindness then to be averted a splash at the bottom, a stone will do the work for you