Some zombies refuse to die: coffees
Of angels, soft machines of drift,
The guns of autumn, chaos of heart.
I wish I could move forward or go back.
Pure indifference returns
Pincered by the hands of the clock.
I study the metaphysics of Neanderthals.
I, the statement of fresh water
Disappearing, invisible. In this ozone
The sterility of night touches the sterile robe
Of the grey sunset. Nude calendars,
The circle of the zodiac, amethyst fingers,
It is all relative, a forest of beings
Divides the sky into houses, shuttered.
Tombs peppermint the weeds and dirt.
It makes not a ripple, not a sound
When a bird gives up paradise.