*Reserata Carcerem XXXIV*
Erstwhile, travelled a monk to heav'n -
that Holy Grail.
Borne on trance's wings - pride cloven.
Got he at 't gate:
And the angels all were silent.
Where pale Cynthia shed her order,
for its great wall
pukes rare radiance, beams and Jasper -
and the gate's tall:
And the angels all were silent.
Then his fingers, this marred monk wrapped
into knuckles
on...
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