It is for tacticle crunch,
That all is stripped away,
To barest metal birthing dreams,
Beyond though trials delay,
But I am taken up with tools,
And call it wizardry,
To trek haphazard trails within,
In little worlds yet free.

Holiday ambitions converge in rank,
To chart a course through charted lands,
To hang adventure upon forgetting,
To be suprised by what I used to know,
What a strange gift of our failing station:
That a good insight can be sought twice.

Nineteen sum three,
Two units fallen short,
These towering bricks on brick ,
Grind cement like gum between their layered teath,
Glaring hurried up at twenty four,

Alas
they
crash.

They tumble to the gates of time,
"Wait two breaths" the clock begun,
"You take up size like filling lungs,
It shan't be long to bear your breath on shanties sung."

The ray of light is sheered in two,
And scatters like a sparkler's bolts,
Over the edge of the gleaming orb,
That seems to warp slightly in softest slow,
And reveal a wild rotation underneath,
A shiny coin that turns head down,
Before tails flips from whence it left,
And back and forth they tumble,
Static in the air,
Yet chained to the palm beneath,
And with a tug of nature's grasp,
The gleaming coin falls down in spinning haste,
And falls face up to glare at the ceiling,
It's tail behind and hidden now,
On palms beneath.