plum plunk-ums no placid Eden yet as delicate as cigarette paper always beautiful but not without a touch of disaster like a fetching girl with a milky eye and a cross around her neck a wearable god a tiny, tarnished truth trinket religion's armor as ancestral glooming lights judgment hammers guilt and implores prayers to be saved in dystopian lore for priests' sake in temple prostobulaes of hanging dark shapes wicked trace drooping black bat-like caped and heaped upon each other like runged downward chandeliers of stalactite falling knives in caves of primal fear