Do you know and not know,
From where or where to?
Or did you sit and turn to watch the lampshade?
Did it throw its shadows rashly?
I treasure my shadow.
It gives me more me and watches my back.
Do you see and not hear the shadows,
That laughed at your childhood and your children.
My shadow remains with me through the ice.
And it cracks, to reveal sluiced sense.
What dies and seems to die in the shadows of time?
The city cracks and weeps.
Its omnipotent towers throw themselves to the ground.
Beating the earth with conquering terror,
Come the soldiers- breathing burning flowers.
Pick it up and rinse it.
Crush it beneath your fleet of fleas and flesh.
Alter time with space, lord of the Fleas.
Remind me of grass greener than pig's meat.
Lost in a garden of wild fruit,
Dripping in wild secretions,
Syrupy, sweet, and poisonous.
The maiden of the East makes her delicate way.
Her fresh white feet, leave no marks,
Upon the viscous mass.
It turns to see all, twisting into itself.
Looking beyond the world, into itself.
Lest we forget ourselves.
Brick and stone, turning the land,
Twisting the land
See the land being softened, like hay,
Or liquid rubber
Or hay in liquid rubber, in a furnace,
In a hot corner of a dirty factory.
With dirty, black-faced workers,
Smiling to themselves, remembering,
Lest they forget their own lives.