Braggart in the winter storm the silencing waves of rage propel the inner visions of harmonic light spiraling as web of water cycles to make the diamond of cosmology, take from me this mighty vision and wield it at the shadowy birds from hell that feed on scarecrows and punished corpses in the forgotten times of reaping torn hearts from sleeves downwind of contemptuous kaisers and courtesan minstrelsy sowing the lay lines for unholy communion and ravaged streets like horses of the morrow rode of midnight bit and bane braided whips across the pillaged and profligate landscape, tired of the bloodshed the graves empty for none and sing the shadow songs of refractory prisms and infinite dimensions chewing at the cheapest wood like weeds of forests into the dappled trampled landscape like wormwood with dry-rot defiant to the moon’s face, if the devil in the details sang every note would be this panic with a chord of forgotten hope and misery and pain a band of circumstances taught by serious seditioners and jolly foes, where time crawls across the ultimate and spectral universe and washes the plentify ignorant futures for the ignorants forcefully becoming blind across the shores and scores of undertow anchor and general misfortuned circumstance reserved for fiction and lies about the past, depth of wildlands wander wolves to see the fires of treetops as the poets question their stance without abandon and the seeds of captivation, unable to split the world in two the treasure map a single line a simple exercise futile without experience nor fertile for the surface of the fiery hells that mountains float, with the waters now divergent flooding into the fields where lovers meet without words more than will be known.