The patriotic day explodes, and ten million hydra heads
Swarm from the decapitated headlines on to the beds
Of the frightfully awake who climb down into halls of heat
While the exhausted weather butters out the street.
The people standing silently at the curb are waiting for a bus:
Be careful, don’t touch these people: this group is ominous:
If you look closely you’ll see that they are not standing,
They are dancing, alive like lava, at time’s ending.
The bus has just fallen on its studied rubber knees
And gulps these people through its national arteries:
It gets up with no neck broken or other defections
But casts haggard eyes, from both sides, in all directions.
Look further and you’ll know it is riding an ocean of worms,
That the waves are self explosive and will not come to terms:
Though these people are on their way to the day after tomorrow,
They look over the edge to see from whom they can borrow-
They want to borrow the timber for a raft of faith on the deep
Where the baleful hydra heads make it seem appallingly steep,
Where the wind is full of slag, and the heyday fireworks leap
Over the nation fitfully turning in its frightful sleep.
Leave a Reply