6-10-05
He bent his dance
to a happy dream dance
with stars o’rhead in a calm,
autumn-cool crisp burning woodsmoke
noise pollutioned way,
with a thousand comrades singing
singing singing
with a thousand comrades,
eyes all bonfire-orange dangling daggers
sing-sing-singing a happy dream dance
happy dream dance,
while dagger-eyes stab.
And their words are guillotine death-traps
and their friendships but wars, ceased,
and their blood rolls like boiling oil
with a quick identification,
smile of conceit
and a machine-gun-squad kills
as their orange dagger eyes
grin a happy dream grin.
And there HE sits, the Guh shudderGuh
sees beyond their happy dream song
smiles, and he’s someone else
and he stabs and he stabs and he stabs.
And a world of crying mothers
shatters itself open and closed.
A thousand x aways.
