Friday, March 31, 2006

flashes in pans ain't shooting stars

Tracemaker,
tracemaker,
escalator to the stars
it's all done with mirrors and magnets
these days
And all your fame
is just a trace
a fine white track across
the cloud chamber

Outside the planetarium
he's still out there somewhere
a trace and transformation
on a twist of cellophane and
rusted silver

Tracemaker
escalator
make me a trace

klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.

No comments: