OH FRIGHTFUL MAN
At the edge of another something :
precipice, century, year, eon. And
you may take your pick. This is
Jupiter; this is Mars. On either
one, we cannot walk together.
My tendencies run toward mystery
and stealth. I open these boxes, one
by one, by ripping the tops off - and
not the way the instructions clearly
state. Pull tab, roll back. All that.
They hire squids with skid-mark
pants to make those rules. I'll do
what I want, and get it done. It's
been a lot of lost time, these
wandering days. Back home
again, I guess, is nice.
Filigree. Percolator. Hatchback.