The days have streamed by now as in a haze. Time has made it so. Shadows were the way once. By their height and their wanderings, people knew, They felt, the passing of days. It was not time once. Time never was but always is. Escape. Uproot. Words spoken long forgotten. How you wish you were there. The chime of the clock The stabbing of the spear. The flow of water from all We hold dear. Blasphemy. Death. Resurrection. Death again. Constantly consuming without regard. We wonder upon the wasteless earth, the supple fruit of its beauty, All trodden under our own ambition. Thought. Idea. They make it so. We wonder without recognition of things holy. Cocks and tits. There's the rub. The wishes and the wells of humanity. Caught between the sweat and the moans of all glories and deceit. Wanting pleasure, a fleeting thing. One that slips between Fingers like memories. Chainsaw. Sawdust. A cross cut down, falls in the city, no one hears it. A man sits in his bathtub, ha