Accountants hover over the earth like helicopters,

Dropping small bones engraved with Hegel’s name.

A badger carries the bones in his fur

To his den, where the entire family dies that night.

A chorus girl stands for hours behind curtains

Looking out at the street.

There are dead branches painted white

In the windows of trucking services;

A tiny alligator grips those branches tightly

To keep away from the dry leaves on the floor.

The honeycomb at night has strange dreams:

Small black trains going round and round—

Old warships drowning in the raindrop.