a regime of stars pollinate the impossible as i linger underneath the yawning medallion of Nightsky and tarry in the lanes of luminous, gawking at the Quiet. South of Afternoon. i plunge into my garrulous despair like an Olympian. leaving ripples in the peace with shallow valleys and iridescent peaks. my swayback is the ***** of a grassy knoll of iron will sleeping on the job wide awake.