The little bones of clouds I used to keep; Lethargic Dynamos of odd begotten piccolos... dainty mint of pish and tosh a dandy lark ellipse and farce, surpassing strange. Are you then, a ' withering fiction ' ? an addle carp of Cain's insurrection ! Or a less offensive Icarus who hails from Sweden? You, who sold me the bones of little clouds and kept fair all frost and longing...
Hither go, encased in Larceny a prince of deep wish and ill-favored, disjoint Harmonies Soiling Time... Adrift- Our mad Geppetto in waning light
But not quite as redeemed. For Hell's Bells have brushed the tips of my wings and I'm off -