hang futile objects
   and applaud the bursting of their vessels
   nod with approval their reddening eyes
   as life is drained and colour destroyed
   clear blue or jade
   now messed up and strained
   burst screaming out of the skull
   commend the death of things
   that we,
   the sitters of chariots
   the masters of dogs
   the burners of oil
   have no use for
   that we,
   who redesigned nature
   can not benefit from
   we,
   who for ourselves
exist
and conduct the orchestra             of an axel´s
turn