Soft, New, Parade, Part Two

All eyes off the ball, myopic windows glint overhead, blink blindly overseeing, overlooking the raucous, shifting scene below: dark thin ice. Part mysterious, storied ritual and part naked land grab in full regalia, mere Bourgeois Military Folly rumbles past, rattling the rest of the world off its hinges, cracking foundations. To the almost deafening sound of a marching band, spectators exchange furtive, knowing glances --- words are best left unspoken, are best left unheard in secret hearts, in due pagan canniness, for now.* *In memoriam Jim Morrison 1943 - 1971 RIP "The goal and its believers is great." --- from the Treatise on the Resurrection