In the dead of dread night;
laying so naked on the wreck of promiscuous time,
when i shut my eyes to sleep...
... do see catastrophic past
as dark as the ace of spades, Florence La Badie, spadile,
(smiling at the vulnerability of our life ---)
o' yes, darkness overwhelms sarcastic life ---
. . . throwing me straight to the deck of historic mayhem ---
coating my momentary "present" ---
with the lace of incorrigible memories, i entwine.
And, like an apocryphal Yachtman with nom de plume, nym,
i go stumbled; do mumble; get dumbled,
o' yes, right in the dead of dread ni... with the lady of fly-by-night.
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