Noon, Ripe As Thunder And Silent As

And There Shall Be A Flame-green Daybreak Soon. And Love Itself Will Cry For Insurrection! For Tomorrow Is Also A Day - And Titus Has Entered His Stronghold.

The Earth Swirls Down Through The Ominous Moons Of Preconsidered Generations.

The Moon Slid Inexorably Into Its Zenith, The Shadows Shrivelling To The Feet Of All That Cast Them, And As Rantel Approached The Hollow At The Hem Of The Twisted Woods He Was Treading In A Pool Of His Own Midnight.

When He At Least Reached The Door The Handle Had Cease To Vibrate. Lowering Himself Suddenly To His Knees He Placed His Head And The Vagaries Of His Left Eye (which Was For Ever Trying To Dash Up And Down The Vertical Surface Of The Door), He Was Able By Dint Of Concentration To Observe, Within Three Inches Of His Keyholed Eye, An Eye Which Was Not His, Being Not Only Of A Different Colour To His Own Iron Marble, But Being, Which Is More Convincing, On The Other Side Of The Door.

I Am Clever Enough To Know That I Am Clever.