Under the Bridge, along the Promenade: we walked with words trickling through our waxy lips. Where the Seafront was all silk. Where the Waxwings, sealed wax tips, lumbered about the Empyrean yonder: splayed upon a Canvas of Sapphire and Azure. Before the Starry Night has come. Before we reached the Shore only to Digress. "Liebe verleiht FlΓΌgel," I heard, or read in a Book. The Streets are crimson rust; The Spectators in Sanitariums watched drab passersby. They shambled and coughed admixt the crowded room, only to find the Peristyle vacant and dead. A Mantic Women, cards of dread, stands on the corner; our eyes catched, and She speaks: "Wo bist du?" "Wo bist du?" Louder and fists shaking: "Wo bist du?" The buildings doddered, filled with Cuscuta. In Montauk, where we met, now withered, covered in snow, I stood - my comportment unsteady. Flashing in the distance I see Point Light - Captain Kidd musing with his Money Ponds - an Angel guiding wonderous blights - The Recognitions, blimey, Mr. Gaddis has gone blind - The Faustian apotheosis abound - The Streets are crimson rust filled with dread. Smelling of Jack-by-the-hedge - I'm walking... Noctivagant aura permeates - Mich.