dust in the SONBEAM

Narrative for, ‘Ireland’, penned by Irsh mate.
Narrative for, ‘Italy’, penned by Italian paisano.

James Joyce had begun to turn over in his garden bower, that i had been regurgitating medieval thoughts into, reading or, rather editing my prattling attempts at putting bleach to the fabric of what is known as society. My heart literally flutters as if i chug-a-lugged a pure quadruple espresso from extra hyper squeezed pouch of coffee beans, just thought glancing on this issue along with the dice of destination. HEY, maybe my ‘idea’ ‘heart’ can be tamed of its abandoned caffeine cadence if I can reach into Plato’s forms and delete that which is the actual real!!
And so, Submitted for your approval
I gathered up a co-author,{wink-wink}
Dual narrators furrowing into Dubliners incognito speaker
On the signpost up ahead
Where your next stop will unlock the door
You’ve just crossed over into into into e.e.cummings excursion in the factory at horta de ebro while humming a Fay Victor original.
However, there is typed at present—-DISCLAIMER— (all literature essentials WERE HARMED in the making of this picture)
Now back to pursuing the pages of our narrators isochronous logorrhea, which i tend to concede, well-nigh, with Josh Snodgrass who believed, “fewer words...effective communication...a quire of paper not squandered’..
.even so-they’re guaranteed to raise a smile going in and out of style…