Perhaps you thought you were an oracle,na mouthpiece of the dead.nI can see now the way our story's strangely allegorical,nand somehow until just nownit all had gone right over my headnuntil you toppled.nThe rockslide dust tasted like sharp lead.nnI crawl over your old and molding remainsnwith impossible cleaners,nI boil water and pour it down your frame.nBut you are comatose or lame.nAnd no matter what I tell myself,nmy colossus has fallennand things in our lives will never be the same.nnWhere are all the miracle vitamins?nWhere are all the miracles when you need them?n(I will grow an engine from the soil).nn