• A cricket casts no shadow upon the moon,
    And he who waits, sings a threnody of vacuity,
    Nothing, yet everything,
    And the space in between.
    For where no adequate words exist,
    To express the cognition,
    The yearning of young fellow Id,
    In all his chthonic darkness,
    In all his perverse distortion,
    Silence begets sanguinary impulse.
    For opposition is the ambivalent sobriquet,
    Which so seeks to maintain yet tear apart,
    Change is the perplexing caress of the benevolent Lord,
    And a desire unrealized infuriates the mind,
    And cozens the heart,
    Come, bloodied bereft bedlam!
    Come, cursed crippling chaos!
    Come to take me, consume me, ravage me,
    For I am the quintessential simulacrum of disaster.