It is poetic justice of sorts that the church whose foreign agents and those indigenous members who chose to misorientate themselves has also given us these […]

idle hours

Like dastard Curres, that having at a bay The salvage beast embost in wearie chace, Dare not adventure on the stubborne pray, Ne byte before, but rome from place to place, To get a snatch, when turned is his face.

A page is turned - eureka, a snatch of tune / is playing itself, the piss-proud syllables / are unveiling a difficult prosody.