Step into the shoes of an hour.
Way-posts are Chinese.
I marched onto belfry floors
but couldn't worm out Mr Blackbird
to implant myself at a desk.
Pop! Sixteen phones split the air.
Someone twanged "uh-huh he's live".
I was crammed into a shelf room
bumped head and ears
with ripe-old suitcase radio sets
where I buckled for ten years
as The Mercurial Code master.