The Rattle of Bones:
Rolling Dice
on a Burning Bridge

To mask or not to mask
Life is a carnival
Cities measured to their smallest feet
Lighted across a malignant sunrise
Bunkered in a blue suit
He whistles Dixie through twisted lips

Stop the merry-go-round
Shave the bearded lady
Send the barker back
To the kennel where he belongs
Let be be finale of seem
Unseemly though it must be

It is we the ones in the street
With placards and smiles to boot
We with the will of the wisp of the mace
And the race to the line in the sand
In the end that is not it is we