Dudes de l’Etoile
Covered in purple dark spots is if mauled by myrtle spores, I changed under and over shirt. In The Hirsute of the Millennium we soon learn it is for the best to indulge both Brabancons and Chevaliers− flip sides of the dominant coinage−praise them equally in the font of(_^′)spare methe hassle′ italics^′
We try again to toll the bell where Zen flows, seems afar the berg of Grim juts apostate on the jagged skyline. Marauding friars and godless nuns make merry in the meadow hereabouts− Maddered children of the House of Love accursed by local soaks and wizened sinners that frolic mustard green and orphic twisted in night’s duplictous shade, St Salacious dribbles Augustinian ale on the mellow mass come Sabbath. The House of Nassau lives on the tithes and indulgences thst follow.
Why Wednesday already! No day for godless Chaplains to feel vacant. Hedges and history confound the third eye. Gregory vii is on the prowl for followers of the sacred owl, hounds surround the cuckoo’s nest. Milady is at vespers. Good job that I wear a vest emblazoned with the dripping eagle, venal thyrsus and divine cheroot. Plague confounds both mind and body politic.
‘The world’s gone nuts’, a little one shouts. All the elders hoot, A flash mob gathers. The child repeats: ‘The world’s gone nuts’, the mob chants back,
‘Eudes de l’Etoile…
Eudes de l’Etoile’