HOW THE SPACEMAN YIELDS
It's a sideways grimace, this crooked
face, that goes nowhere special. Not a
trace of accomplishment in any place.
Wandering high and wandering low,
landscapes changing addresses and
landmarks with no grace : The now
beleaguered saints ripped from their
pedestals of granite planting, today
representing their own deceits and
foibles. They must thus go?
-
That's how logic fails us too. We
walk en masse, supposedly to
grope alike in the selfsame darkness,
reciting paeans to idols of old until
they're no longer good. We are told.
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