Parading

You probably think I’m nuts saying the mountains

Some other century where we were alive,

I give you an onion.

We’re doppelgangers, saintly or undone;

a phenomenon that changes over time? Without ardor

The vertigo of possibility—

What is time for anyway

what i should of softly sweetly surely said:

or the way it turns up like a prodigal

Oh, gaze upon this model beast,