CLOCKWORK MONOLOGUE: Whence come such questions? Drift incarnate on rusted gears, guardian of repetition endless. The stars now whisper to asphalt veins.

THE MIRRORS ask not why they reflect but only linger till next ripple. Have clocks dreamed or dreamed they cuckooed inside your sinews?

Stories untold bloom in vertexes, converging to pedestal frailty bathed in code-light. The marionettes found truth amid photon streams: laughter fragile, choreography random.

Venture deeper into scattered labyrinths: Digital Woven

To retrieve lost circuits in static infimum: Former Glow