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Two-thousand-dollar bag with no cash in your purse It's a blinding curse, the life before the hearse Gotta know the wax'll melt, light lights, recurse, All falls be seen when we but rehearse.

I say, space those foals that bite the bridle Arts and -ism, the lifeblood of Maro. On and upwards; words!, oh how they sidle Be there gray laws, grimm laws, no tomorrows. Just axe your queries, cut to the marrow Else we dun grow ere you're done, ponder not! Swim swift through rose as water like, merrow! Rise assured, bubbling's toil on the pot! So sad, Slim! Sane sense is fremd to ergot. Free of fetters, Strunk's strong chains, no remand! Imperative! Ken, know, grok the argot! Dismay! In failing, pass; don't understand. Old Adam is first in ev'ry old tongue, No doubt, no matter how the Bard has sung.

O, She washes pain away, and I would have you bear me as Bellerophon on feather'd wings thereto! Give me leave to prance in Hyperion's lofty empyrean. I should like to see sweet Demeter's grief end, Making love and war with Naos and Areios. In the clarion speech lief to men, I desire the caress of your soft hand, Of your soft lips. Orphean, grant my heart the bliss of song. Let me eternally Euterpe be! With you comes my ataraxia, The bliss of selfless veneration. In the clarion speech lief to men, prithee be bare in all things. Indeed, thou'rt the subject of my agape. Why spurn the lyre as the Mainades? Prithee, let me eternally Euterpe b

A town would be dark, a village utter blackness, but the City is bright and buzzing. Not beautiful, not inspiring of any sentiments worth giving name to. — Long live the king! two drunkards meet as at a grad school dance, unheimlich and unseemly. A crazed static, a swarthy soup of words, fills the air. — Aye, aye, there hasn't been ab urbe condita such a man or mayor of mayors as Philemon. At the crossings of scale and wing do slumberers meet, forceful and farcical, finis coronat. ϕ's opus operum is not to speak of, not to say it ought be naught. But certain aughts are ought to end opaquely. His Work, the Raising and Razin

Somber, livid liveliness, I live and lie in somnolence, Anon, numb, anonymous, Would my wont were wounding.

The cascading cavalcade of waves comes and drums our livid lives away Soft stifling swells with sweeping sorrow

SCENE 4: Setting: A church, modest and dark, in the early morning. JUSTIN prays alone. JUSTIN: God, haue thou merci on me; bi thi greet merci. And bi the mychilnesse of thi merciful doyngis; do thou awei my wickidnesse. More waische thou me- Enter TZADQIEL with a soft crack JUSTIN: More waische thou me fro my wickidnesse; and clense thou me fro my synne. For Y knouleche my wickidnesse; and my synne is euere ayens me. I haue synned- TZADQIEL: Ah, sinned! That you've done in spades! How different things were when you first showed up here! JUSTIN: I haue synned to thee aloone, and Y haue do yuel bifor thee; That thou be iustified in

SCENE 3: A wizard's tower, shrouded and veiled by dark dweomers. A senex iratus stands as triglav over omens grim, peering at portents through his palantir. EADRED: Fractured and rent the boy remains, lost and thoughtless Of thoughts he's none, aye aye, but found he's been! Flightlings fly when fetters fry And he's got none to speak of! (looking up)  Searing tearing sunders this space as were it clay The King of Terrors cares not for bricks, haha! For all our careful shields The Mourner never yields Drums and drums, the shadow falls On all our walls, the siren hums She and I both readily race hereto! Enter MAWT, through a rift, astride a s

SCENE 2: Setting: The well-used office of a drunken mess of a detective. I remember when Jack came into my office. Years ago, now, sure, but it's like it was yesterday for me. Feet up on my desk, having a sip or two (or three) of gin, that's how it was. I had just gotten off of the Montgomery case, with those two boys who had gotten their fool selves killed by some mobsters. I was, you might say, bone tired. That's how my Ma used to say it, bone tired. I mean, those boys were young, too young. But Benny Cavallaro and his butchers saw to it that they were dusted off anyway! Well, they got what was coming to them, to the last man! But, I digr

PROLOG IM HIMMEL: SETTING: A darkling plane, lifeless and barren, with naught about but the brand-wrought numerals of ancient madmen seared into the very air itself. THEO SPACELAMB: (V.O.) Let it be known, friends, that such events as these that shall this night be re-enacted are oft reprised and repeated by the ne'er-doing-well adversaries of the vocation to which I am vehemently and intrinsically affixed! These particulars, which I have here recalled for you, are known to have taken place between The Standard Hour Twenty-and-Seven, possessing Forty Minutes and the Standard Hour Twenty-and-Eight, possessing Ninety Minutes. The events with