monorail <br>
to the dead city <br>
cold welcome
algae on the rocks <br>
what passes for a forest <br>
after the War
landscaper <br>
Ordovician exile <br>
is torture enough
typed in his name <br>
an obituary <br>
the only hit
the Crown Prince <br>
clutched his chest<br>
no one spoke
still sun<br>
burns the fields <br>
night's a fantasy
We pick up our lutes and play <br>
Just like yesterday <br>
Look at Caesar and say <br>
We just got fooled again