There’s dust devils too
Inside the sands of time

Two years ago I met a man
Designed little candlesticks and trinkets
But had a face and soul so hollow
Could moisten Ayn Rand
With pinned doll eyes so blank

But warm up ice
And it loses its shape
He got it from his container
That lost its taste

He’s a facsimile, doll-man
And lives in his sleeves
A sublimation beyond detail
A core of air
But brown veneer of lingue

There’s dust devils too
Inside the sands of time

Because when you look too close
There’s empty space
Sometimes the scale’s just right
When ghosts materialise
From the dolman of their graves
And the prompt of his return?
The advantage of a good name