In my imagination were some chiming balls
Angels running through chamber to open door
And through tiny cracks in walls.
I imagined stars like flame throwers in the sky
Like black holes the people wandered
Into the silent serious winter of dreams.
I imagined a wacky tin man
Opening his hand again and again
Untill it toppled on a heap of rubble.
I imagine far sighted pigions
Spinning in the sky for what could be said
Yet all was in a pile of notion.
I imagine cowardly squirels hiding in holes
Nothing to do but wait for the nuts to come back
All they could think about was spring.
I saw the strangest thing
A man looking at an empty book shelf
His eyes crossed with disbelief.
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