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inane annals
The Way Things Turn
by Mark Pompeo | 12 Mar 2007, 0:00

The verdict is in
It just came down
The walls of the universe
Are lined with fire
I heard it on the
Latest wire
And at it's heart
A bell resounds
Sends messages
Reverberations
Like fired rounds
Tuned to certain frequencies

Pure is this source
Its leaves are scattered
Traces among us
Picked over, sorted
Soon are found
In books and mouths
And all around
Discarded, kept
Remembered especially
Where you lept

It says very little, really
All in all
It comes, it goes
It comes again
It circles back
Creeps behind
When orange sky
Has burning flak

Preparing to depart
It parts
That's what it does
This says a lot:
It's bright, it glows
It lives, it grows
Like a mold
Or like contagion caught
It's communicable, it knows
And when you catch it
Well, the usual shit
It never flows

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