Village on the border, open to false travellers
Who carry no documents, just new names
Who tear at all revolutions around
Tames the local deer that turned carnivore
Maybe we can dream still of families only
All to us, with no crisis calling to the First Square of city
Marching to new bell of imposed referendum
On Black people
On Purple people if unwise to be Yellowish, sick and decaying
I cry for no land and no people
I laugh at all laborious familiarity with passive heads
Howling daggers at stuffed objects, mere playthings - Gross
In that very crowd stand my friends.
Friends. One of them is lawyer. He is very handy. Handful.
His hand rooms up my skirt to be surprised. That contortion of his horny face
Worthy of sweating Dali with his moustache against an easel
Confused to call it. Portray it. Dali is drugged.
Jennifer slays all erotics here without being nude.
Something tells me the lawyers hand is wet with sweat only
He isn't attractive you know...you must know
Calm and calculated till hormones bust his teen body
My other pal is a gynecologist. Handling vaginas when husbands wont
Till necessity. She believes it objectively
Births. She'll hate her dilated uterus so soon
Against a rival one's
Proficient men and mini-men swimming
Damn all she sheltered only once carelessly
Her girlfriend bitches about it
My next companion at drinking is my boss
He is a whiz at numbers, his wife and me - we are close, I mean
He and me gets along knowingly and unknowingly
We claim our salaries and go home
Desolate home, desolate bed, spoon masters
Cranes perch on my swimming pool and dreg
We wait for Mondays then Fridays then again
We discover the waits fruitless, joyless, funless
Curse our retired bosses
Gossip about the new ones, we are employees
We apply resolution of office romance to every non-HR guy or gal
We are big bosses, even then, at least I...
Hate to join an important golf game
Against the new CEO of God-gut-it Company
I lost it to the wind
Wind and its scissors at work
Against a dying leaf, hangs a half season
Falls and grasps ground
From above, it all looks at fire near Dal
Except the white Temple, beautiful and Pure
Half men like me don't go naked there
Yet want to confess like at Vatican
To emerge and be born like the baptising John
The blessed of the three occasions
Maybe I'll return before the lowing herds go home

© EdwardConnor