Eyes of stone rolling on the pavement
There are some hills in town;
sleepless hills. You know which I mean.
Houses without doors stand on the hills.
Some hills look on like icons.
Newspapers will not report if a hill
Has been burnt at the stake.
Five, ten, a million madmen
Throw themselves on the hill
And ride on its back.
Every town has some hills,
A few lakes too. They will be stabbed,
They say, hills will be born anew.
Stony eyes rolling on the pavement.
Houses void of windows
Blood spun into solid plaits.
Tugging at the dead woman's boat
Time is marooned on the shore.
Is her heart throbbing? Many contented ones
See her heart throbbing
The stump of her small finger
And the madman fuming in her tangled hair.
It is the most glorious spring.
The dead woman will not go to her grave;
For a peppercorn she trades equines
And rides off on their backs.