On the eve of the new godgiven year, when the waters of the Inundation had subsided, leaving the ground visible, I slid in through the flames like a serpent cutting a path into sun. My soul, my own. I crawled through as a purling. Looking down into the mirrored steps I climbed I saw myself descending into the heights.

The Debater who is really Bad at Debating. You say that It does not make sense. You say that it does not compute. You argue with naught but pretense. Those with which you can not refute. On Poets and how Great they Think they are. I write these lines, I write this verse,. Without the rigors of rehearse. Are wild words and lyrics terse. Both have seams about to burst. Not a doctor, nor a nurse,.