all cantabile moan, glory inflection
twisting barstools spin rack and pinion bards
where so bathed in creamy disaffection
language dismantled and spoken in shards
to circus-wire alarm, clockwork applause
chronograph polish of suitable sheen
mechanics in disrepair, praise jigsaws
where gears of luster motion or careen
to occupations we would make our own
sweating at heights we doubt we are made for
at home in costumes we hope will atone
us more than a passion played saviour
as time never prays for timely careers
as songs only play as prayers on deaf ears

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