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Cyclops 337
The pleasureship of laughing becomes catastrophic
Stop shouting, pig! You’re a fair henchman- you of the many forgotten
I’ll find you in a gospel
You are someone else
Hold the wars- they are terrific and
Instantaneous in the shock of the exploding sun.
This becomes the answer answering
The electrical luck of our long-dead god
And a hand above the eye to shade the mongrel country
While we glide down the fair river of our custom
While flowers and horses salute our visible being
Hold on shouting hold on to these wars
As we enter the gates of the metropolis of
Mastodons those big flagless devils
Their power cheers us from the ground
Their murder warms our little hearts.
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