The Gong Tormented Heath

The eremite, while waddling past the ghost-warbling nightingale and careening through galactic sectors on the grecian urn, admits to himself, and to his astral retinue, that the bards who weep of lapis lazuli, dancing elves, and dolphin torn waterways, have quality control mechanisms and engineering charts that result in finer, orb-like structures on a more consistent basis, though, doubtlessly, the bard of autumn, chapman's homer, and opiated stupors reaches greater levels at the furthest end of the opposite end of the long tail.

They all listen, they all feel the diaphanous footfall of every echoing word as it reflects through the shadows and then softly drapes the lichens, they all seek wisdom.
Maddened fairy foil, crumpled up, uncrumples and is gay.

The organ that the digerati activate has large, columnar pipes and is set into an urban edifice. Attendees bawl over the mournful, recursive fugues. The moors fill with glee. The cities are orbited by pod-filled aerial traffic jams which crawl and wind in worn abstractions to their cyclical beginnings only to warp-accelerate and trace their path anew. The bubble-gleaming craft delight in their own glossy existence.

And, through it all, the ancient alchemist's gems refract the age.

Photo is of Constantin Brancusi's Sleeping Muse.