| A dayman, I cover my eyes
|
| Blinded by sunset and rise
|
| Irony is an escape from history
|
| Hook in my cheek like tongue
|
| From freeways to buyways
|
| Streets bisect streets
|
| Two polar lamps in the lostlight
|
| Parazeit and the master of collisions
|
| Traces of the tangled timetrail
|
| Like smears of tire on the tar
|
| Weight of my weakness
|
| In their weft
|
| From freeways to buyways
|
| Streets bisect streets
|
| I’d read a dreadfull fall
|
| Homes quaking on clayfeet
|
| Parazeit, underparsed
|
| Bypast and passed over
|
| In the silted delta of streets
|
| Down to crossroads
|
| A bleak bargain was struck
|
| A weak will was wagd
|
| Parazeit hovers at history’s hind
|
| A weak will
|
| Wondrlost in infirm motion
|
| Collisions, history’s knifeblade
|
| Shears off the streets
|
| What remains after the clash
|
| Between them?
|
| What remains after the clash
|
| Must rise from rubble and ash
|
| What remains after the clash?
|
| A shattering of bone and glass
|
| A dayman, I cover my eyes
|
| Blinded by sunset and rise
|
| Irony is an escape from history
|
| Hook in my cheek like tongue |