Eyes unroll like braking wheels. Wonder leavens languid reels. Time distends precious and sure a childlike patience for pleasure. Somewhere, a hemisphere away, A refugee caravan is slowed by rain.... And I must sing it. How do you begin anarchy's child? There is a whistle and then a blast. The scent of cordite buries hearts in ash. This music never stays. It plows up days in waves continuously breaking loss. Until we long for sleep's kind transience.