passion
spent by the night-calling
outrageous
creatures
vested
in the black arts
hide
themselves in hovels
and
the birds are quiet today.
The
birds are fucking quiet
fucking
today
speaking
only occasionally
in
their simple language
they
invaded your dreams
where
Anne Frank met Frankenstein
and
the birds are quiet today.
The
birds are quiet today
Amid
the forest of the damned
Wherein
haunt the ectoplasms
Of
a crushed human spirit
Long
ago and far away
Turning
the leaf of another book
Inscribed
by nazi warmongers
Plus
their handful of poems.
And
the birds are fucking quiet
Fucking
today
Over
the tracks
Still
awaiting the last
Whistle
of the secret train.
And
the birds are quiet today.
