All roads lead here, some even leave, if you follow,i Canberra caresses Victoria, verily towards Venice, Iron fist in a Glooskap glove, rhythm, sensing, patience.ii As it turns out, métier is not matter, but mystery, Data most sacred, Democracy too,iii As if Lizards run the show, not hybrids of Sloths.iv Ungrateful forecasts beget tear-tickling fears,v […]