Inner-Limit Lightning Rods

If there ever was a better time
I would dial that number, and send in the autobiographer
He’d do his job
Write, and rewrite the numericals for the whining rerunners
If there ever was a better time
I’d surf that chime down the Allegheny Valley
Pick up the pieces of charred abundant furnaces
Trade them in for a normal understanding of today
If there ever was a better time
I’d smell the victory of the dandelions crossing the borders of the bush
Infuse it with the smell of the long gone attitudes we used to share
And cancel the classmate reunion, and replace it with ten more of the same


If there ever was a better time, I’d not bother trying
If there ever wasn’t, I’d do it all today