'it might forge it for a while,
like each origin does its wicked child,
consume its speech and smile,
but it begins drooling out,
like saliva through a cloud,
yet for this One...
'how many' selves were drowned...
in Golden streams of splendid recreation,
until this One...
liquidising sanity,
coughing its medicinal observation,
now Happy knows,
has lost its cups of wisdom somehow.'