"The Slack and The Snake"
Twins, as read by a million, will not be wedged apart or widowed
They will play a dual role, as their acquaintances delight
In watching them balance the see-saw : gracefully, telepathically
And in the harsh sun of a national holiday, they pool their pyrotechnics
And the patriotic, prostatic youth dive to their knees as the twain conducts wild fire
O, how they bully against the gravity that dampens our Proud Land!
The step together, with the cool coordination of a witch doctor
They call it new magic, the Twin Flame.
And in the half-light of July's first crimelessly cleaved crescent,
Love and gender turn wonder to ruin
Our pair, the reunion of God's most divine creation : limp meat to be carved
While one tires of the mountain climb, dreams of stumbling towards the trench,
The other is poised to divert the next infant-faced girl on which he will dribble his spit
There is a dripping laceration behind their dismal formalities, the ink on paper
There is freedom in division, brute strength in a War of Nerves,
As unforgiving as the hatchet's cutting edge.