You Lay Covered In Those Moments, As You Do In The Morning
When You Awake From An Agonizing Dream,
And In The Course Of Detention
You Sometimes Appeal To The Wilderness
To The Events Which Were Getting Underway
When You Lost Your Footing,
Events Which Were Like Semi-Awakenings
That At Times Explode On The Surface Of The Windscreen.
You Flounder Under, And Then You Sink.

The Man I Was Seeking Among Other Men
Died In His Bed Like A Royal Prince,
Before Covering His Body With The Standard,
A Grace And A Trouble, Surely.
By Its Gentle Gesture There Arose An Instinct.
I Recognised A Hand Lift Among The Dead.

Alone You Did What A Soldier Would Not Dare Do:
You Now Descend With No Fear Or Sorrow.
Black Shorts Gloved Your Soul Like Your Body
And, When You Offended The Designated Grave,
The Line Of A Puzzle Aligned Upon A Lightning Bolt
Was Cut Into Shapes With The Sharp Edge Of A Blade.

We Saw You Arise, Carried Away By Madness,
Attached Tightly By Your Hair To Wreathes Of Iron
In That Swirling Swastika And That Dirty Rose
Your Arms Twisted From Being Taken Alive.

So Which Angel Has Led You Across The Solid Fields?
Go Without Stumbling, Bending The Air With Your Hands.
A Delicate Helix In Front Of A Meteor,
Thus Marking Out And Destroying Our Precious Path.