Hens scampering in the village of Parma
Appeasing the rooster's pride

An acre of corn nestling
The soft serving Earth

Some light years away
The explosion of a star
Extends the reign of darkness

Kristina in her T-shirt
Looking at her **** in the mirror
Wondering how much firmer they get
She is nineteen years old
And wants to become an artist
But her mother has other ideas

The clock chimes the midnight hour
And Tom is sitting in the dark
Debating whether to do it or not
Whether to dispel the itch or wallow in it
He is idyllic and knows nothing
Of politics, nothing of religion
And nothing of death

In the street corner
Harlots talk about tricks
Talk about positional preference
And talk about cunning
One day they are the masters
Of their worlds and the next
Objects of subjugation

A ****** of crows circle overhead
The pitch of their cawing growing

The clergyman wearing a purple robe
Pays tribute to ****** Mary
He is positive that his moralizing sermon
Would enlarge his drove of disciples
His submission to the Cross
Is double-edged: one about God's work
And the other about mammon

An osprey swoops down
And catches a trout

Silver and gold are bought and sold
In the marketplace
Asteroids surge through
The incalculable Space
Time effects and erases
Prospects of understanding

Mason is an obscured poet
He admires Rilke's philosophy of writing
Even though he is well educated
In aesthetics of language
His own poetry verges on insanity
He says: either mad or dead

The General brushes his mustache
He is about to give a farewell speech
To his subordinates
He is not going to ignite them
With bravery or his achievements
Instead, he is going to stab their spirits
What do they know
These fancy pants of generalship

The lioness fails to make a ****
Oh, but there is another prey

The Heart aches for peace
For eternal release from the binds of
Temporal tricks
The Mind, whether a master or slave
Miscalculates the essential needs
And the Body, sanctuary of soul,
Craves for food, ***, rest and breeding

Czeslaw Milosz would have been
The President of the World
Joseph Brodsky:
His Secretary of Independence
Robert Frost:
His Secretary of Freedom
William Butler Yeats:
His Secretary of Peace
Pablo Neruda:
His Secretary of Pleasure
Only if Fate had been kind enough.