By Simon Barget
Here the horror of life is stark
No feint or fake can dodge it.
Ply this track between sodden fields
Where strays snap at buffalo
And the lake backdrops all.
Breathe this clotted air,
And take in this verdant squalid paradise.
Walk on since there's nowhere to go.
Just walk and look.
And as the moment engulfs,
Brave it languidly
With your whirling western mind.
Their stillness is deceit.
They need succour just like you:
Hope, love, something, hope.
And these crutches I hope you find.
Because one day, perhaps... who knows?