Multinational jive transponder,
breaking code on a vagrant lake.
On a raft, with an urge to wander,
eating lamb with the need for steak.
All the elements cloud right over,
like the eyes are attacked by night.
Why’d they have to go kill Smokey Stover?
He’s the one guy who seemed all right.
Parameters now blur with meaning.
All the contacts have disappeared.
Former straight things are now quite leaning.
Gossamer is the word most feared.
Telemetrics usurps all the answers.
Water climbs to a higher ground.
Stun the painters and cap the dancers.
Here’s a photo of one last sound.