There drifts the sky again,Here, a single thought crawls slow as a flea.
There was a burst of static on radios all over the city
We have been saved one more time from what we fear most.
The last uncle is pushing off in his funeral skiff (the usual black limo) having locked the doors behind him on a whole generation.
To find my childhood. My God! Empty pigeon coops. I ate rotten oranges and old pieces of paper.
I want to give you more than these words finite as husks or a string of barbed wire.