II

Wait for the rocks to roll
is like waiting for highway 5 to divide:
the encumbrances are too wide
the bliss too noticeable.

So tell me where the mark is
where the fan flutters and is still,
a mystery in its bones,
ivory chop sticks licking at a plate of foam.

Stretch the bands where they have not been
play the chord so loud the clouds would applaud.
It is doomsday and day is a long way off
(shore.)

It is the living dust.
It is a circus of rust

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Page 23 (Black Book: Light Heart)