Thump, thump, thump goes the night and all its daughters seek shelter in the blacklit catacombs. Bejeweled bullfinchs shake a leg with supple serpents while the canaries whistle over blustering machines.
When will this spectacle seize if not even dawn can make it grind to a halt?
When will this frenzy wane and yield to stillness?
morgenfrue, if god wills…