Juggle upward the filthy trod of alien bootsteps.
Agitate the settled dross of craven industry.
There is no forming air to awaken sleep,
Words happened yesterday.
Tromping soles fall into line,
Harrowing daylight the compass.
I found the door and entered through.
The landscape melted into the same extension of numbers
Seemingly.
Hope, a barren word, over-pretended by robed minds,
It smiles at me, a confused sentence.
Did you see it? I forgot to look,
The gated square closed ahead of time
And I missed the forming
Of stable minds.
Madness says I am its friend, echoes call me kin.
I am neither.
A passing flame, out of breath,
Liquid in a beastly mould.
What world is this?
