Eilam Cronus lived on a hill of dirt, in a pile of rocks.
He was always wearing someone else's sweater.
His eyes never closed, and his feet never stopped moving
All He could do was write poems for robots, and this was all He did,
And this is how He did it:

"A wing can't be a crystal seed, but the reverse is true
you can't put yourself, mangy as you are
(in these lethal times), apart from your guitar,
into a translucent stone, it just won’t work.
I am thirteen orchids and seventy hungry insects..."

Then he mumbled something about hungry souls and needing to climb the stairs.
So, Eilam set off in search of the stairs, but the stairs are not easy to find.
And so he laughed, then drank himself to sleep.
But when He awoke He could feel the demons.
So he punctured
and slashed
and as the scaly beasts slunk away, He composed another poem,
this one for the flowers, and so
atop the telephone pole, to the flowers He read:

"I am empty of fullness,
I am bleeding from my nose,
I am lost in darkness,
I have no clothes..."

Then the poem continued on about himself for quite awhile.
Then about four in the afternoon: He showered and dressed,
Then set about looking for the stairs again.
Then something interesting happened.
Then he found the stairs.

And so Eilam climbed to the top of the stairs,
And found only a skate park,
And wheels,
And asphalt.
And Eilam did beat unmercifully upon the ground.

All he could do was write a poem to the asphalt, and the wheels,
And the wheels, and the asphalt listened with great intensity as he echoed:

"The cat scratched butterfly wings in solid snow suicides
and the wasted spaces fall freely to the feet of over used pedestrians
I am the toxin and I am the purity and I'm wasting too much time on myself
but don't remember me remembering let me also fall through the winds of the dream
this is our only chance to know each other and our only chance to say goodbye
so feel free to fly but one day return to the waiting castles in the sky
don't bleed forever don't feel all the pain don't try to remember loneliness here
in the freezing rain and remember that... remember that thing I was going to tell you...
but has escaped from me now..."

So there Eilam Cronus Died, trying to remember what it was he wanted to say,
and fading from reality as quickly as he came.
In the rain they found a piece of paper clutched in his frozen hand,
the final words of an imaginary man, who existed only in these scenes
It read as follows: Love Jesus, Hate machines.