Along the thousand mile carpet all unfurled:

To the bridge leading off the edge of the world.

Across the valley of the sine wave,

Then make a left at Abe Lincoln’s grave.

Go round the dead giant’s liver,

And float across the Missouri River.

When you reach the wall of glass,

Begin to count each grain of sand you pass.

And once you’ve reached 4 billion and eight,

Take two lefts, three rights, and then go straight.

And if you’ve followed these simple directions the right way,

You should see it, clear as day.

Standing right in front of you:

1212, West East Peanut Avenue.

For you are long past overdue,

And closing time is quarter till two.

To get your bones taken out and cleaned,

And your eyebrows reconvened.

And to have the inside of your lungs be dusted,

And your elbows readjusted.

Each landmark you have seen and passed,

And you come upon the wall of glass.

And now you must begin to count the sand.

Dropping grains one by one into your hand.

1041, 1042, 1043

Counting for all eternity.

Except now eternity has ended.

And the to four billion you’ve fully extended.

You think to check the count again,

But your watch already reads half past ten.

For if you don't arrive early enough before,

It could be years before you can come back here once more.

You follow the list as you were given,

But nothing appears, non matter how long you’ve striven.

Suddenly you realize why there is no destination you can see.

You forgot to count grain 2 billion 3 million and 50.

You go straight back to where you came.

But where you arrive is not the same.

There is no sand in in the place,

And fields of flowers fill up the space.

A strange man sits smoking on the ground.

Perhaps he knows how to get around.

“Do you perhaps know where to go”, you say.

“To get to 1212 East West Peanut Ave. if I’ve lost my way”

“Just follow this path on the left”, he says, slightly irritated.

And you set off on your way, your path redesignated.

But as you reach the address, something is awry.

All that remains is an abandoned well, long since dry.

“West East, Not East West”, you suddenly grasp,

But two o'clock has long since passed.

So you step back onto the edge of the world,

And the thousand mile carpet, unfurled.

And not much really has changed for you.

Except your unwashed bones and elbows eskew”