bohemian egg (1988)

German atheists paint rainbow landscapes and sell
Them on the corner for a cup of coffee or beer.
They eat their manuscripts and burn
Their hair for warmth

Seven moons are reflected in the storm windows of
The testament building, each is pocked

At night they blow lint across the air,
Suspending it like pain
It rests on their furroughed foreheads if they ever sleep

Wallpaper roars in agony. Moon peels 
The carbon night away
Leaving divots on the golfballs of hunger they
Clutch and cradle

Two minute eggs
On the fairway course of bohemia