Every turn I make brings me to a wall,
I can see the light …
Passing surreal …
The bricks are impervious to my need
Hopes are directions without paths
All roads are blocked
Where is the turnstile and my queue
A myriad of tickets to hand
No entrance beckons
Dreams the only glimmer of distance
Reality a box
It's all stone
And I am no mason

Card
June 2001