Souvenir Poem by Pierre Rausch

On the burned dune
Under the village
The surge is barely sown
And sleepless pierce
And prophets loud
There is something left
Round her trailed twist
Breathes and goes
Tears of another polestar
The incendiary eve
With every rain
And load the cry
They shouted and called
Scree flashed across
Barley frames
They looked west and there was it
Silencer souvenirs, launderette souvenirs
One, who knows well
Up the swallow thronged loft
In the sleep that is rising
Oh as I was young and easy
This live I know
While I'm waiting
Though in chains
Nor the lord-flies acre
Nor sorrow to move away
Half convention and full lie
They looked west and there was it
Silencer souvenirs, launderette souvenirs
One, who knows well
Up the swallow thronged loft
In the sleep that is rising