On any given day you
Might be touched..
I stir my own ink in
A rusty old pan
A cocktail of ancient
Lore, mixed with the
Delusions of modernity
As I stir I tease the eternal
Verities to the surface of
This visionary stew
I fill my quill with this
Anomalous mixture
I roll out the parchment
That shall receive the
Indictments I inscribe
Upon it
I gather my thoughts
From the dungheap of fools
And from the wisdom of
Spirits held captive
And although my audience
May slumber between the
Pages of time
The clockwork of their
Dreams ever tick to
The final hour
On any given day
We shall awaken