All of you undisturbed cities, Have you ever longed for the Enemy? – Rilke

In a city, in an anonymous century At evening, fighting fire with fire Someone is grafting these lines

Onto streets, which funnel winds through them, Full of smells: spittle, urine, crack and muggers. Where immanent danger seems greater than the imminent.

Where has madness gone to hide? Laughter these days is that of horrors. Heat assailing the body is that of a fever.

The disinterested life leads to disenchantment with Numerous playthings such as switch blade knifes Or the more easily switch able bodies.

The only refuge from the Enemy is the Enemy himself. See there, he is up on the stage. In this age when guitars become Axes, music becomes fire thrown from the catapults.

In this evening when everyone conceals A Hiroshima, Dear, how does it matter how large or bloody Is the force of the foe waiting for me At the gate, just beyond the end of this line?