Triage for the gullet
Triage for the soul of this world
We dodge another bullet
Dislodge as the poles come unfurled
The Eastern wind
The sky burn in the night
Reach up from the bottom
Shout out that they caught him this time.
It’s the the razor to the occam
Cutting out all the rotten design.
This Eastern gale
The minor scale of time.
But this is all just fantasy, a filter on my eyes to see
The world that is that was
and that still could be
We work to
disengage
The essence of our
Age
..outrage
..pressure gauge
..working wage
Two straws on the camel
Break back as we trammel this sphere.
Shoot one cross the channel
Soon won all the comic veneer.
The Eastern air
She turns to stare in fright
When we find that it’s all wrong
We had felt it all along
Another wave to wash away to clear the way
passion play
..our gateway
..to yesterday
..so cliche
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