45*21

It is a relief to have the circle
in which all the voices speak
when in darkness we mount
the strange and forbidding
Say when the lamp posts leave
and there is barren waste
The total and complete lapse of indifference
Well, you can't hold the candle
at its very end
and not melt yourself with it
These are all chambers within chambers
pots that we clamber in our cells
What a relief it must be to smell the smoke
and when rearranging the furniture
it smells musty and speaks
in enchanted voices
That is when buying the farm
may be the only option
at the edge of time
where the mind separates from
the fruit of idea