haunted by the same dreams as before, a great gurgling call, an echoing submarine sound. surrounded, stonehenged in, vast blocks of unknown stone here, there, scattered about the sky. the same scene as every night since last friday. over & over, these dripping, dank ruins, the piscine stench almost tangible even after waking. the sky starless, with the hewn "stone" flung up in their place. or each star, positioned just so, behind them. i am not alone in this risen graveyard; the shape of great wings hovers above it, below it, suffusing it with the raw stuff of oddity, drizzling it with venom. & i, flitting, am just another strange angel. strange angle, i mean, for no matter how many degrees in a cornor, they never add up to three-hundred & sixty (360). here i am in this city with the Dragon, & i am home, waiting for glorious fufillment. writhing with the glee of a butterfly being pinned to a box. the same dream as before. lungs filled with dark water, but deathless.