Comely powers
No, listen--listen, please. Find me the local trephinist! File a neat hole in the top of my skull so the brain beneath can see stars. O, but what if it is not enough? If we've written everything already, then the Lethe is wearing off, fill another atomizer, quick! We need some new material.

No, listen--listen, please. Saw the top off my head--with poetry if you can't find a precision instrument--let me clip the brain from the case and wash it in a special basin so the gray matter shines like the wing of a bat at dawn. The transcendental horizon wakes up and blinks its long lid. We planned for a silver sun. Sew me up with your stitch n' bitch so the rims of my ears are more or less aligned and I can hear two voices talking at once. It rushes in. The down on the fern, the heavy lunches, the tongue we used to speak--orphaned at the door we loved and locked. Don't call for the key. Listen--listen, please. Or no--get me the lockpicks and hurry.