a piece of farcicalness


Bosphorus mutters Eliahu muses what to do with my city
roofless catacombs or tiring-rooms of the Colosseum
and not by moonlight this could go and light this up all right
disregard that I take my message walk my rounds here


the collective will of the world clutched grasping in your hand
what to do with all my city it is a dear thing outdone vies not this
belabored battened fasting rooked out of spectaculars that go
for proving the point raised here by my Cristal Bic