Fig.897.2) et Si Wreck and the doom of a vaudeville bloom Rose as rose should be, limited by lines to fault and grief There's a blanket, there's a mess in the lions tomb and across the room, there's the funniest joke that's ever been Getting wet to the knees or even higher Something like fear filling is feeding the fire like a rag being stuffed inside something pushed way too full A rattle and a rasp padded gasp lingers past then drowning's served, the gig's observed Law this fragile strake is seen On a frail face there's an old smile suggesting time and place