Return
after Jules Laforgue

The Earth places History in her deep coat:
farewell, holy and unholy mornings!
Buildings quiver? She merely clears her throat,
a fat lady getting ready to sing.
When you stumble, squinting, from the last night-
club, heads possessed by the last mad anthem,
the beaches are sad as a used condom.
Children, return to the city of light.

Enough of this ocean whose dismal sobs
have driven the coastlines to breaking point;
an end to the wind that chews your ear off,
to that lame, interminable complaint.
Beneath the grey coffin lid of the skies
you've weathered rain with less wit than Noah,
...