lost upon an empty plain

while all the while the tides of time

wax and wane, wax and wane

—

bushes burn, I take my turn

to roll among the balls of slime,

face against the windowpane

—

A genius is awoken,

But his fire he’s a-chokin’

—

rabbit holes and fishy bowls,

and splashing in a mossy grime,

ratty  rat’s amidst the moles