he wrote three poems that night
and all hell broke loose
the children looked through the windows
and fell in love with sin
the men stood on the misty northern platforms
waiting for the trains to take them to the front
and the women wept for hours because they were afraid of change
he wrote three poems that night
he stood high up on the city walls
and fired them at the crowd with his magic Beretta shotgun
to a bunch of innocent by-standers
who would never return to their homes sane
and they laughed and they felt awkward
and they knew it was up to them to sing in tune or disappear forever
he wrote three poems that night
one exploded like a space shuttle in the frozen black sky
the second burned the gates and freed the tigers from their cages
and the third roamed the streets with a wicked smile
- dynamite strapped around the chest
and high on acid like a bulletproof son of a *****
it was the night the dogs were barking his name
and the signs on the walls were painted blood-red
while all the communication systems broke down
and nobody was ready
but clearly
he was