Sanwa bank building the temple of karnak and the scent of a steam engine and the halls of the faces that came before me and the pillars we placed there the more you push it the more it falls down trapped in a musty room till the process punch puts a hole through the boards on all the windows and the light comes streaming in and it shines on the dust who am I to know from which direction from where the help I needed would come thank you so much for lifting the shroud off of me so again I can see the grey for what it is which is everything the wind and an unselfconscious breast the wait for history it's not up to me it's time that decides terra-cotta fountains all dried up leave it all again to the roaches when our dirty sidewalk becomes sheet rock and history becomes geology.