lazy flies all hovering above

the magistrate, he puts on his gloves

and he looks to the clouds

all pink and disheveled

there must be some blueprints,

some creed of the devil

inscribed in our minds

a hideous game

vanishes in thin air

the vanity of slaves

who wants to be there?

to sweep the debris

to harness dead-horses

to ride in the sun

a life of confessions

written in the dust

out in the mangroves

the mynah birds cry

in the shadows of sulphur

the trawlers drift by

they're chewing dried meat

house of disrepute

the dust of opiates

and syphilis patients

on brochure vacations

fear has a glare that traps you

like searchlights

the puritans stare

their souls are fluoresecent

the skin of a robot

vibrates with pleasure

matrons and gigolos

carouse in the parlor

their hand-grenade eyes

invalid and blind

vanishes in thin air

the vanity of slaves

who wants to be there?

to sweep the debris

to harness dead-horses

to ride in the sun

a life of confessions

written in the dust