[last 15 lines of Chronicling the Era of Common Fun]
And you’d carry this downcast gaze along with you,
home with you to the place from whence you came.
It was a gaze that threatened to own you, haunt you,
to place you in the X of its decentered frame –
a gaze that, what’s more, shunned your every name,
your every attempt to affix it to its sense.
Indeed, it was sudden, though not unexpected –
as if you’d crossed a prohibited fence
beyond the place where final stubs were collected.
You had thought at one point of treading no further.
This feeling came, but it left you perplexed.
For weren’t these the lines of a friendly server?
Just who, moreover, was intruding in whose text?
Yet before you had time to turn about,
it screamed: Get out. Get out! Get out!! Get out!!! GET OUT!!!!