lately things have been all glass & tesla's crackling force, the old nyarlathotep side-show. the passionate fist raised against the backdrop of a black griffin, all feathers & sharp beak. i keep dreaming of a country whose borders are shaped like an anatomical heart. of the solar typhon turning to lambent night, of the starlit pylons at the end of space. of the seven tongued thing speaking in chorus beneath a crown of fire. the usual omens, the old gang back together again, never apart. but in the cracking egg, the last to hatch, & when it does, we'll know the pace of the dance will be picking up. dark shapes moving against jelly, vaseline bubbled around a razor blade, the distinct occluded by translucency. we've had our great fall, humpty dumpty, & now we're just waiting for you, all the king's horses & all the king's men.