The town cells are full. Few come back from them.
Some return piecemeal, their heads smashed open
or minds in broken health but eyes on tongues
torn out as punishment for being good.
He who controls us will not understand
the need we have to honour what is godís.
Terror is yet prepared for him, of course;
but he is innumerate with time, and proud.
He is not a soul to contemplate his death.
He will name a volunteer first, and send him.
He thinks that is how it works: an animal!
I lived yesterday. I shall live today.
I shall always live. He learns no history.
Pity us who read books: we die each day.
Visiting Fellow, Music Dept,
Goldsmiths, University of London
New Cross, London SE14 6NW