You are complicated and smart and cunning
more than I, who am simple as light
and foolishly innocent and stammering
until in motion I assume malevolent guise
Swooping amongst you I stack in imagination
your corpses like a fund drive for death
in your green public park and leave
your legendary village depopulated and stinking
Out in the country as I pass your cattle
topple over peacefully feet in the air
and your creeks run poisonous and birds
plop matter-of-factly out of the air
Behind me a great serenity spreads
as with an epic rustling your flowers compete
with each other for places to lie down
and then everything is lying down, including
your buildings and trees collapsing soundlessly
because no one is there to hear them
and soon flatness is the prevailing condition
as a precision earthquake irons out your mountains
So you are dead with no one to mourn you
but I will write a few lines for you, maybe
Oh you'd be mad at me if you could find me
but I'm on the move and your ghosts are slow
