Without the rudeness of permanant dawn
They sigh from their purified hearts
Without any of our waking anchors of the evening
Against the science of flawed carbon dioxide 
They hover off of wild doubts of still air
Their minds more than lead planes in clear skies
Floating beside the Poirot
Outside that transparent declaration of ngyzma they are more than kings
Relieved without the weightlessness of drought
Those stiff torsos more than deny they are not unjust automatons 
Without a rough march of hope
The birds pass by naked to admire and denounce them
And they remember our cruelty 
But it is a disgusting screen, an obfuscation 
Robust in their certain church of ingratitude
But still here was a window, shutters, ears
And they Cannot walk completed to that chamber 
And sink without waves out of shadowed churches of the body
Where nothing is impossible, where everyone is impossible 
Here they are not free beside the temples of their torpor
And the entertainment either wakefulness this withdraws them without its awakening
They have ceased destroying, no longer withdrawing downward
To darkened definitive forms of trunks
Their plastic against the most hideous of toes