Mastodons & giant sloths
 
          mastodons & giant sloths
          are still writing the history
you are to die and the world
to be full of beauty
the one you love
has closed the windows, a blind bird
          has been caught inside
 
          storms can be raised
          and storms can be stopped
the prime minister sees here a chance
to make money, and here, to lose                             
          the game
          is playing itself, the abyss is so deep
          you're not aware of falling
 
and here sits the moron, disarming a sentence like a bomb
gunpowder smells, you're crunching a gingerbread
a neighbour is howling, you're addressing  yourself
in the second person 'cause there's nobody else
          the town has satisfied itself and falls safely asleep
                    inside its circle of sheltering walls
                              now that all the daily spoils
                              have been divided
 
          if only these nights, these
          nightly creeping runners of my thoughts
                    could be trimmed short
                    like nose hair, if the past could be emptied
                              like a bottle of port, like a jeweller's shop