DICKENSIAN CHILDREN

You admire the poet with nerves of steel     Right?
Right     In the same way you admire
the worker with savage hours and shopkeepers
who fall asleep at dawn counting gold
and 25-year-old girls who fuck all
night and the next day take three or four exams
at the university

It's tough to understand the above     I mean to say
wild animals hanging around the walls of my house
Owls and Dickensian children     Lizards and hermaphrodites
painted by Moreau     The suns of my two rooms
The buzz of footsteps that can harden at any moment
like a sculpture of dirty plaster     The vacant
eyes of the saint riding his horse toward
the Dragon