Chapter IV from The Emperor’s Dilemma

It was high time. The wind blew–inexhaustibly. In all directions. Directly then indirectly from the wild, unbound, vatic pages of a sorcerer’s spell.
The great emperor’s front door lay next to his neighbor’s cow, caught in
a tree. Not amazed. Inside his roofless doublewide. The great emperor
merely shrugged, consumed as he was by magnificent fevers or magic, scanning out on his Kingdom of Once, which–without equivocation–mostly conceded for an evacuated trailer park. Chained to the rusty anchor of thought, he sank ever so downward, according to the capsized artifacts, ruined antiques, forgotten treasures of his memory; how like in Borges’ tenebrous fictions, he had died in the third chapter but found by the fourth himself very much alive and as foolhardy as his most gallant knights, squinting like a frenzied, almost fanatical, bat into the calm of the Hurricane’s bloody eye–just before sunrise, waiting for her finally to blink.