So speaking, History is personally designed. Words
that signify grotesqueries of blood & mind
will soon be judged by centuries & school of men
who chose the fatal flight of fireflies, immortal lance…
They who blaze the flaring path shall find the lack
in blank enigma of signs, the dross & the styx
that fear has so spat…Still, eremites might find a grain
of joke to throw at crows O rise of cold cold crowd…
The force that moves the fingers move the mind to wail
Gates of heavens are Ho-ho! gates of insignificance!
& wedged between the circles I, who, in vanity, visit the dance
& must therefore dance the wicked dance of angels on the lam,
this loss of tongue… But flogging dreams that wouldn’t stop
will not solve the riddle Garcellano has clearly planned.