a pair of derbies

In a town like that, you keep meeting quite often
A boy with a bicycle on his shoulder
And a very tall woman wearing sunglasses.
They invariably ask you the same question
And go away along silent streets without
Listening to your reply,
Followed by a cloud of mosquitoes.
Even if they had an address, it would be invalid.
I don’t believe the sound of their steps,
I don’t believe their bare feet, the words
They forget to utter, the red skirt,
The pair of derbies, and other attire,
The little fingers pointing at pigeons and blackbirds,
Pointing at the moon that can barely exist overhead
When there is such a low death rate among emperors,
The rum they drink right out of the bottle,
The coins and cigarette butts they throw from the bridges.

mice mirrors money

Mice shrouded in national banners are imperishable like the wheels made of air.
Cats chew on flowers, devour bicycles, feast on men’s invisible heads, women’s invisible legs.
Kitchen knives smell like mp3 files.
Soldiers are singing again bandaged all over the uniforms,
the voices full of wet paper towels.
They are going to buy up all the mirrors, vases and crucified saviors in the world.
Believe it or not, but they have the money.