what a spectacle
shine of a festival
in the gleam of
a chandelier
people drifting in
from the vestibule
as the evening
crowd appears
they hold their drinks
and wait for his premier
on the balcony
clutching a paper leaf
casting charms
at the lapels below
all of everything
they could ever dream
held up-tightly
and bound by a bow
you see him saunter
out into the snow
picking flowers in the fields
but the fields start to freeze
carry only what you need to
and the cicerone decrees
as we fall onto our knees
'is it true?'
what a spectacle
so irreversible
island home is mine
for now
I was cast away
from the pedestal
marble head
crashing onto the ground
I toss and turn
and quit without a fight
now we're flowers in the field
and the field soon will freeze
I am you and you are me too
hear the sound of grinding teeth
bracing for a salty breeze
is it true?
mighty ocean batters beach
and the towers hit the sea
so the boat begins to flee to
landing on a foreign shore
somewhere south of East-Timor
what to do?
is there hope for anybody
thrown into this desert party?
we don't know what this all means
so can you just tell us, please
what is true?
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