OF DOING TIME IN
A NEW COUNTRY
The bread is green, the people are stupid, the air is
dense, and I can't understand a thing. Even the autos,
out on the street, seem willing to run backwards on
the whim of a walker. It is all so strange and distant,
yet here I stand. The limb of this overhanging tree,
I swear it's so old that Attila swung from it.
-
All around me, the debris of three thousand years:
people and their babies, their dead, their homes and
all their coy possessions. We drink tea here with a
constabulary courage and then run to a cafe to get
quite drunk. My Campari has a badge and my mouth
can't stop from smiling at nothing at all. I am in two
places at once, but - really, really - nowhere at all.
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