Monuments to events that never took place: to bloody
but never waged wars; to ardent phrases
swallowed once one’s arrested; to a naked body
fused with a conifer, and whose face is
like St Sebastian’s; to aviators
who soared on winged pianos to a cloudy duel;
to the inventor of engines that foiled invaders
using discarded memories for fuel;
to the wives of seafarers bent over one-egged omelettes;
to voluptuous Justice awaiting suitors
and to carnal Respublica; to the comets
that missed this place in their hot pursuit of
infinity—whose features are echoed very
frequently by local vistas (alas, more photo-
genic than habitable); to the discovery
of Infarctica—an unknown quarter
of the afterworld; to the red-tiled seaside
village which dodged the cubist talent
for almost a century; to the suicide
—for unrequited love—of the Tyrant;
to the earthquake greeted by far too many
—say the annals— with cries of “A bargain!”;
to the hand which never fondled money,
not to mention a reproductive organ;
to the green leaf choir’s bias against their callous
soloists getting the last ovation;
to happiness; and to dreams which imposed their chaos
on matter, by dint of the population.