Far away windows of shattered visions, br The corpses that lie waiting br Inside of your salt: br The Jack-in-Box wound br In time and forever clinging gravity, br Soon you’ll become the exoskeleton br Of grinning thought: br Soon you too will lunch with the grubs, br And the white things which clean the room, br Before churning into br The confections of drifting air- br Here is the play we are in, br Dressing up to respect the dead on br Holidays of funerals: br The distant relations to which you are br A fast growing seed: br Blooming in the high basins for one season, br Tended to by the sunburn angels: br Soon too you will see the br Dead girl’s skull at the end of the rainbow, br The petit but savage necessities br Of change, br But for now you remain contently housed br In your music box, br the organs of your marching band....