Random Strain

The city life

Of motion

Moves without even knowing

What will come next

And the random strain

That is made from a misstep

Will make you remember

The way the world moves

With us all riding

Along

Headquarters

The HQ

A place to define

The limitations

Of what can be

And what could be

Done

And undone

With exhaustion

To the wind

Of narratives

Grave

In the HQ the words

Land

The Polite Expert

All things held constant

As they are

Words are needed to soothe

The disruption

From a certain combustion

So the fuel can be expelled

With a polite expert

Weaving the words

Through a difficult

Narrative

To see what the future

Can hold