this too: this too, shall start, like
Big Bang! or a birthday bash,
some hundred doves fired out
to festivals tomato-
coloured, expired tickets
in beaks. “oh!” people will cry,
till the carnivals grow meat-
ful, waltzing shoes snapped on; let’s
commence, shine onwards, like that
summer, my butterful babe,
when the bells of your eyes came
dazzling my sundried pavements.
“oh,” this too. “well.” and down to
Hell today will go but we
will have no “damn!” caught bet-
ween our teeth. spit the toothpaste.
come, there shall be a parade in-
stead. flip the eggs, love, don’t
leave them to smoke. button up
yourself. this too, shall begin.
