Copperplate script ripped off from a Dickens pen.

When Toledo exploded and fhe land fell away and the storm clouds erupted and scattered the day
If only I'd read what he wrote, in each novel a note to be wary of ghosts and solicitors.

Point to point to each pole I anoint with the blood of the many of me.

Never free just a prism in a prison of  colours that number any number if I think of that number in me.

Eve
the madam and
Adam the gent wondering
what it all meant or if it meant
anything at all.