the doom puke treacle of our dim sum sundays, asunderous. the bluff of our taurus. the trim thumb, green on the terrace of our epiphanies; wondrous. the crease in the pleat of our borealis. the allusive chalice of our majesty. the dead kingdoms we relinquish to the roiling unjoy. the thunder of our feet to the heel of a shadow. our peter pan in the fire. our kettles black. the opposable lovelies. the lovelies that preen jewels. the extreme youth of our gods now at the hour of our foolishness. our funny bone. and the fracture. the actual damage to our heaven. and the near after. the gross bloom of our anguish and parade.