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the lapel of the Heart's tuxedo, like a doorway to an abandoned wedding, holds a note made out to Dream:

"You will awake alone and in pieces chiseled along cave walls: your fingernail a rock cleft paled and fading under the lunar eclipse, your fallen eyelash, pinned behind eyes clear as shoreless oceans, heads like a nursery of glaciers roaring brushstrokes against the beyond. these people will have decided it is not enough to wander lovemad and drunk lost in you

They will start on the soil and the sands and will not stop until the last walls, the skies of their hearts and the valleys of their fears, are Yours. However long it takes, there will come a day where the only thrones seat you and they and I, and the World is a mobile hung of the shifting forms of our hard seductions."

To the would-be krylon prophet, I say only this: Get Up. Now.