Abandon these lines impending

[before they lead into a never-ending]

battle of quested clickage where the caged and wired sheep of your
love-spun mind electrify. The fences tumble and you release the
realisation that you are here at the end of the line

Without sleep wishing the uplift the street

Never gave on your route throught it

Would now arise, deliver you from the mediochre evil in the beginning
where the word made flesh and light at last of the next letter. It
arrives when you least expect it, but not for lack of hard
ripping,
through the boddices of brown and demanding muses that drop daily on
your small hall mat.

(go to the letter b in the abc set 'a cross ticket to read' to read
further)