In the Red Tower The planes mature To a dance that beats Red sausage links and iron ore. In the Red Tower Flames shoot from the stack, Fire white hot at the top, Black in the cracks. In the Red Tower A dragon wails A song so sad, such simple pain that none (Maybe just the sea urchins) Understand. The madder-heart, With each bump it bleeds, Runs into the ancient stones, and Dies in agony, slowly and alone. Forked tongued forgiveness Wanting only for a friend, A pat, a snuggle, An “I understand.” The black smoke bleeds From the Red Tower— Recession’s sandwich, but Only for the gods, and easement, Momentary easement leaning to the left, As crows swarm on the edge then dive Into the black. What time to make the stones and legends dance!