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…