Would I narrow to a mania of fellows
When constantly upon every thought
The way I’m made is that my mind
Is trodden by the bellowing smoke
Of unexplainable quarries,
.
And if the time for the rocks to shine
Should revolve back to prominence,
It will as always have been a foolish game of shifting
Realities to observe like bite size raspberry cheese cakes
Brought from helter skelter brown knaves, and gone.