The prisoners have butterflies for mouths Teeth bared like burnt-out buildings They say exactly what we want – without undue coercion Just the slightest quaver Of the jaw and throat Where stubble hides the muzzled bruises We lied, we are wrong We came to drink your blood These are eyes not camouflage In haloes on our wings Here the children have hands of bone Bandannas over nose and mouth In the stench they forgot somehow to sing The sun is bright in vain Inviolate on the mountainside The studio has that flicker scent Of blitzkrieg and cigars when you are almost halfway up Back arched in trapezoid envy The sky is less steady than it seems Icarine- the too harsh blue Of interrupted broadcasts Looking up, we make new stars Name them in bravado See the smithereens Cascade in new intaglios On the surface of the eye Blink the warmth of tears Gravity has an equivocal grip When you are almost halfway down Knuckles raw as dinosaurs Feet arched in Quetzalcoatl torsions Sending hubris, sending love We will solve this war Like a misheard refrain That thick comforting savour Of something on the stove Notes played and played and played again Til, despite what we have heard What we hear is right What we hear now has Eternally been right ——
