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?