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Crouched on a ridge sloping to where you pour
No doubt a new drink late this easy night,
The tooth-drawn town dreams... censorless, can bite
Rebellion, bodies mauled... but breaks a snore.
Hessians maraud no more, coaches no more
Crash off north, south; only a smooth car's flight
Hums where the brains rest, an old parasite
Sniff then for breakfast while from Bach you soar

Easy and live in the summer dawn, my striker!
Nothing the borough lets be made here, lest
The professors and the millionaires from bed
Be startled, the Negroes drop trays, build. The tiger
Sprang off heraldic colours into the West,
Where he snoozes... glossy, and substantially dead.


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 27 May 2012 12:19 PM | Viewed: 2353 times

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