It's quite a precipice from the Absolute
Into mishmash pluralism
Voices down through the trees
Or mystery bungling of pipes
Through the motel wall Monterey California--
Sniff of yellow dogs
With histories unrecorded
Fade out calls under murky skies
Rumoured to hold manmade satellites--
Everything uncertain in the New Realm,
All the signs tampered with,
Spun around or uprooted
On outpost roads to towns with river names,
Vagaries abound-
Flesh is your only raft
And it's damnsure doomed
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