That Motley Drama of Scenic Solitude
in the dead of (winter) night
in the dead of winter (night)
a mime was executed for stealing pancakes
the gunpowder tango sounded
over the burnt black bones of Bastille
wretchedness comes in manifold reverie
in distempered visions of epochal disasters
mime's widow's now loitering enshrouded
dismal and dismantled into the strawberry
storm of desolate lament on a horizon
monomaniacal embers of deceased mementos
shuddered after the rain of infirmity
day dawned once again with frolicsome frogmarch
in shrubberies echoing the ghastly romance
friendly fiends and fiercer fury of mountain tops
are inversed by limb contorting boredom
in the dead of (winter) night
in the dead of winter (night)
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