From the Latent Book of Platitudes

by: The Reverend Roger Eno

Whispered doughnuts need not make a lamprey, neither shadowed nor imaginary, yet blindmen see the future with their fingers.

For although we consider the ripe, little meaning is combusted in firework gardens even as the light troops step heavily to the fray.

Kings and Majesty fall as baking trays to the floor and our sevens are counted as threes in this state of uncertainty. Surely,this is no unreason.

Silent though it alleviates and is, our past lingers like a doubt, troubling and often smelly, and although we oil the wheels of caution still we drip, sump like, residues of a former when — Charlstons, poplars and cheeses.

Even the innocent scratch and their biscuits are but wheat.

Who can plummet the voice of the crying wilderness?

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