What to do

 

What shall we do this time? Shall we throw

Long arms of catastrophe into the windows

Of neighbouring homes? Shall we salt the very

Tulipped gardens of proud women; shall we

Dance victorious in spite of abandoned warehouses,

Setting fire to silence, dust and emptiness?

Shall we delight in fireworks, tracing patterns

With bright worked fire, Venuses and Saturns,

Mercuries and divine chaos? To claim this night,

Shall we throw it away, and spend every second of it

As teenagers would, in righteous misery?

What shall we do as, when the vacancy

Of morning wakes us, we hope to dream awhile?

Tell me, what we shall do to kill this time.

 

We’ve all been young and foolish, once. And wasn’t it fun? 

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