If all desire is paradox,
Explain to me this history
Hard taught with combination locks,
Their tumblers still a mystery
That won't be picked till victory
Of rolling stone & empty box,
A complicated armory
Of spinning tops and winding clocks.
Your scaffolding is quite sincere,
And yet I choose some other way
To steal a message not quite clear
From thoughts I find no way to say.
As three a.m. comes round again,
I don't know why, or where I've been.