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A dayman, I cover my eyes,
Blinded by sunset and rise.
Irony is an escape from history.
Hook in my cheek like tongue.

From freeways to buyways,
Streets bisect streets.

Two polar lamps in the lostlight
Parazeit and the Master of Collisions.
Traces of the tangled timetrail
Like smears of tire on the tar.
Weight of my weakness
In their weft.

From freeways to buyways,
Streets bisect streets.
I'd read a dreadfull fall:
Homes quaking on clayfeet.

Parazeit, underparsed,
Bypast and passed over.
In the silted delta of streets,
Down to crossroads.

A bleak bargain was struck.
A weak will was waged.
Parazeit hovers at history's hind,
A weak will.
Wonderlost in infirm motion.
Collisions, history's knifeblade,
Shears off the streets.
What remains after the clash
Between them?

What remains after the clash,
Must rise from rubble and ash.
What remains after the clash?
A shattering of bone and glass.

A dayman, I cover my eyes,
Blinded by sunset and rise.
Irony is an escape from history.
Hook in my cheek like tongue.

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