ten days worked alone the texts go undressed
often too much
my lifeline drags a trail in the sand to the edge
of giving
the ambience breaks down many Fridays
waiting listening for
Yes on the radio so,
I sit among the Roundabout, Close to the Edge,
awaiting the Delirium, to catch me
by the gate  
the one the song sang about
me the lone lover of prog left.