again someday

that carefree that
gleeful city you will visit
again someday
where bricks
and stones speak
incessantly about
squashed cannibals

and horses of
the cavalry defeated
millennia ago
feed on the tresses of
imprudent whispers

Money and poetry don’t exist,
water can’t fly, sugar is silent,
an infant girl always sits on a bench
with a burning doll on her lap.

A dog feeds itself on lukewarm stars
trying to avoid her stares. Dead trees
and stones speak straight to its bones,
it doesn’t have to listen.