Took a piece I wrote: ‘Original’ Which then turned into this: I wanted to emancipate the words into verbs. Looking through a telescope at those rhymes that were too far to reach. Too far away to chart properly. A cartographer with eyes studied in the prodigal stumble. The sort of clumsy wizened balance one must have to be accustomed to falling properly, over the precipes-to where dragons be, as the land dweller would claim. Falsely do the people who know not the edges to sky, try to name the frightful tales sailors' would tell like barley plumes, from their barnacle lips. O! It is a scene too important to leave, unpainted. How in soft candlelight ashore, for a while, the starmad crosses ways with the children of the sun, and whisper of the places beyond what is known. To this, a map was carved in to the bedrock as an aqueduct for preserving blindness to drink up in fretful haste: as it was a comfort to keep dragons at the gates, to imagine no further than the eyes bursting gaz...