‘O lank-eared Phantoms of black-weeded Pools’
-Keats, Hyperion

Redowned in scrophulous hives – cloistered
in penumbral shadows of sacrosanct erudition,
she quivered in her slithy seat, and outgrabe
in tendentious fear. Her fallowed heart crooned
for a woofed gueredon to fulfill her scancious
dreams. Her hoary eyes creaked when thrown
around her doleful cubicle. Could she sing
in royal diapason, forsooth she would; Eftsoones
her vorpal tongue will skate across the aspy
Locrian scale with florid agility and rath-like
steadiness;- her mimsy boss is fondling her
thoughts again. Serpentine in his briny retreat,
he spreads an etherized smile across his shiny buck-
toothed mouth, and she returns a smile as
effulgent as the new moon.