I speak in a wonderous haze sublime,
Where the words are floating in response to gravity of thought.
I shall put thee my pen, in a box full of quills!
Arise from it and make me write, a flowerous wreath of words,
that shall endear a kingdom of readers.
And that Macbeth spoke to me,
"Why does your Ink bleed, writer?"
I said," It empties its memories in a vase of paper my Lord."
He said" My eyes do the same, they brood into that skull and look still."
I spoke" Wonderful Sire, our thoughts like to play a game of subliming and mixing into that of another."
Macbeth "They listen these mouths and leer. What thy thought were claps