The red

My name is red

And I am alone

To transform the sign,

To take its rook.

There is nothing

About this in an outward sense

Remotely uncanny,

Increasingly unusual.

To gather round

The spot before time,

When everything ceased.

Ceases, never it was

Of obvious sway,

And shake

The red.

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Comment by Bobby Z on February 8, 2011 at 4:15pm: the spot before time has moved on..it woould be boring to park there....the race is the prize....god is the process..........i think

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