Up north past Ironfield, the Blackdog Rifle Range,
Trump’s pompous golf course for unhappy god-kings
And the pretty oak limbo of Old Deer,
A six-sided diner levitates among the trees,
Solid green on five sides, endless low sky on the sixth.
The solitary watchtower, a field scout in peacetime.
The patrons know and understand each other.
Red and blue fairy lights dress up black pipes.
A middle-aged flower child approaches,
Crosses one leg over another,
Welcomes, lists off specials,
(She works here, apparently).
A wind-up gramophone and an electric organ
Doze in separate corners of the room.
‘Spirit in the sky‘ on the sound system,
Falls parallel to fluttering laughter
And the rattle of toy train wheels
Against toy train tracks.
A red LED sign repeating:
... how on earth will I find you when all my searching is done out of this world, you remind me, there are more worlds where this one came from how on earth will I find you ...
A cuckoo clock chimes, simply.
A caramel and ivory waiting room
In the mind of Ivor Cutler,
A rare Sylvanian daydream.
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