Once upon a time and a very grand time it was there was a girl coming forth from the cul-de-sac, a very twisting and spirally cul-de-sac , and this girl that was coming down the road was named Pigeen and she met a man named Napoleon.

Sleep he had succumbed to; lights flashed before his closed lids, celestial formations that led way to stark-blackness, a void that seeped from his deepest unconscious, an unconscious that teetered with a tenacious somnolence, an impressive threshold laid to work only by an unfaltering sense of presence and paranoia, insecurities wrought by conditions of duty culminated by that of age and cycle, a jaundiced cycle that has represented itself sense the edging of time, such a time fostered by stone, bronze, iron, and flesh--- a green cock then calls for the moon.
With all of the strength of his emerald breast he is left tired; for his quarry has been dispatched, left bereft of any valid hen or muse.

"You used to be so amused

At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used

Go to him now, he calls you, you cant refuse

When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose" 1.

A rift renders itself scarlet sky, all the while the moon kisses the horizon in a tangential movement. Somnus arcs in revulsion with the ritual, brandishing his fallen head towards the heavens with his arms. External energies permeate through, music rains from the clouds. Sharp, poignant notes find their way to the burning ears of a young Ozzie. Listless in his wander, he is neither fettered by this display nor amazed; his amusement lies in the bemusement of the fallen mystic-force befallen by the wane of the moon.

Ozzie catches peripheral-sight of the rift in convulsion, tearing way to form an immense aperture. From now, the hen, left in prior neglect, hovers towards the port-way, it’s momentum maturing as it crosses scorched earth of the vast wake.

A primordial ooze bubbles from a crater chanting in couplets:

ex terra firma;

Towards the Ivory Spire.

Jettisoned from a

Daft State In the Mire .

Welcomed by this arrival, Ozzie chances the amiability of this viscous figure of whom he has made sense by. Peering into the layered Aegeanesque blue of mass, he marks the ineffable charm evoked by the fractals of tendrils afloat.


Citations:
1.Bob Dylan- Like a Rolling Stone; Highway 61 Revisited