This is a liars' box
Where anyone can speak
Take orders and go
March swiftly
Combustible
With pointed hands
And it sees you
Outside of its hawks eye
Droplets from an aircraft
Onto a city of paper
Burning
A gust of lust blew it out
But the arcade is in your shades
Mirrors on 62nd Street
Summons of a glass
In a sad sad heaven