sureties of the vice-butterfly (a postretrospective)

eh, didn't the seers and the magicians that occupied the corner of the stage wish for the dust light to turn backwards upon the apposition of the priory of the Mongooesio? I had a dram a madman's pram a backwards bank a wishing stroke a confused arch-gulfing of sobriety an inversion a messenger's backwards epistle to the improbably confusion that made my art one for which there is no disambiguation no release a steady set of Mahlo cardinals and you want relief? Is the Genhrahm tea sufficient to dislodge the perpetual isolation, the wrack't loneliness of this present Confederation of the Lunatick? Do I ask you for a peace of that pi?