Paulo Leminski, p.6


two village idiots

one spends his days
kicking lampposts to see if they’ll light

the other his nights
rubbing words
off sheets of white paper

all villages have their idiots
they look upon with sympathy
in just a while I know
they’ll be looking upon me


is a mad dog
that must be sat down,
beaten, whip then cane
gored and burned
or else, really he could
the son-of-a-bitch
rain on our picnic