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Outside, a blunt wind shatters the September
Garden. Generals in a forest clearing
Shake hands on a truce, agree to dismember
A province. Bribed and fed, their troops start cheering.
Pulling
the curtains on such loud-mouthed weather
A
Head of Department must once have settledTo his work, sampling speeches bound in leather,
The province rich, the borders firm, roads metalled.
The
world decays. What purpose now the marbled
Halls,
booming with the counter-claims of lawyers?Men are slaughtered; mercenaries in garbled
Lingo chatter at the killing like voyeurs.
And
what is left of joy but lovers vainly
Flesh
to flesh, hot in their love-clasp, ungainly?
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© September 1983