אין להם אלוהים
At first a discarded shoe, / Huddled lonely under tangerine buzz / The streetlight’s browning uniformly.
Cruel and inconstant gods, I tell you, / I know the waiting game.
I will sing you the rocks whose secrets are unlocked / with radioactive decay; my chorus will be the mayflies,
And the voices on the radio prophecy / Only the movements from one hour to the next; / Chess board battle pieces weaving / the tapestry of continuance; the war / is unending, and no one is free.
And am I the same as all my kind / Bare-boned, bare-toothed, alone / And am I, like them, colour-blind