Eliot rolls in the rwed rwed sand

Let us go then, you and I

When our evening declines into that gentle sky

And dreams that swell wane with budding light;

When with blinding sight you spy the dying night,

Let us go and dwell through common streets

-

Let us scuttle backwards with mongrel feet;

And retrace the tedious steps outside of rat’s alley

Where the tired grime seeps through bones

Like toil that you have never tilled;

And then the bones are picked clean

Till the clean bones are all gone… perhaps only

To womb worms into misshapen dreams

Maybe stir up some screams for our silver screens.

-

But let us go anyway, to see this noise white

That is different either

From the rattle of a poet in red and light

Or the farce of the peasant parched in blood and might

I will show you heaven perched on a pound of platitude.