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 |                                                          | |   2021-02-19 |
 | Couldn't sleep thinking of cabbages and no existential   | |              |
 | matters intervened.  The alarm silently dead, my mushy   | |______________|
 | sensorial apparatus out of service, wiring up a cipher   |
 | text editor.  Another bollixed evening waiting for the   |
 | blessed emissary of exhaustion, for the mobile to blow   |
 | me a nursery rhyme, for the knotic walls of the bed to   |
 | crumble into polar dust.  Wasn't it today we all would   |
 | cross the dark river of our protracted inklings?         |
 |                                                          |
 |               ((Drew McDowall & Kali Malone, Agalma V))  |
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