Short Arctic desert day -- and someone left their snow-shoes in The Tundra. Look around every which way but I can't see just where the footprints Go. Is it a casual disappearance? -- plucked from the middle atmosphere like straw wind-blown. No speck on the horizon -- no simple message scrawled upon the snow. Unearthly visitation -- someone left their snow-shoes in the Tundra. Hungry buzzard flier circling round and round rattling death's tambourine. Have to run it down the cold wire -- late insertion in tomorrow's lost and Found. Should I spread out searching? -- but I'm a little thin upon the ground. So I raise my lips to coax the last drop of brandy from the bottle. Rest my feet and contemplate the mystery that's haunting this Siberian space. Show-shoes they bind me down -- I'm just one more parasite of the surface Layer. I begin to get the feeling I've been on this stage before and I'm the only player. One more Arctic desert day -- another set of shoes out in the Tundra Snow. I make my fade to white-out and you can't see me where my foot- Prints go.
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