Lapping lakes of lusty Logs, Basking billows in brimstone Bogs, Through the veil and into the mist, Enter the house of wissahickon schism, Windows are locked, A gentle knock on the door, Inside a choice, Cinder smoldering, they sew sisterly stitches, Whisper "wormwood" with warbling witches, Faintly fall back into the fallopian fog...