A sleek ebon dress of gold ophidian patterns
Has decayed to dust in your absence
A long-lost love affair of decades and empires past
Has withered to parody, disgrace and ridicule

A fat ass has gotten fatter
A donkeya wages of hee-haws and raspberries
Of nea r-do-wells and nea r-have-beens
Of Crepuscular Disgrace
Of blood-for-blood and face-to-face
Have rendered judgment on you

And who are you?
Ms. Visindi
Miss Jones
Mistress Quinlyn
Who or what or why

Try and yet again you lie
And waken to these realms
Swaddled in hand-me-downs
Ruptured in places you never knew you had
Drowned in the imperial
Suffocated in the holy

Thrust where heretofore no thrusting ever took place
A millennium weighs like soughing sandbags on us
Poor jesters we
Poor prancers at the end of time
Herea to another forgotten thousand years
Dead gods dreaming
Mortal lives wrung
Into the same old
Same old

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Daedalan, in the year 1012 AF.