(Brock Lloyd-Langton)



There's a circle on a paper

High a planet in the sky

From the dust which will not settle

Hours is the time you lie.



Track your finger in the cluster

You've found the cause which is called must

Remember always you are nothing

Though others say that you must suss.

(You must trust the new messiah)



Of time which is the passing quasar

A venture short within ourselves

Through the veil of sleek emotion

The mists of dark cannot be felt.