Their eyes are red from worry and loss of sleep. Jawbones bite giant hollows on the moon and the gray dust repels the mottled golf balls, the scraps of Sputnik. Astronauts beam laser rays to Johannesburg; they arrive just in time for the hunger strike. Neruda is dead Nixon is dead Their sockets form a luminescent halo of grief. Now the streets are quiet Now the students study Now they make angels dance on microscopic pins Now, also, they yearn to make angels out of angels Sisters in communion smash the dry-bone China, let the children raise themselves. The pant of a runner presses the air We will have campaigns against cancer, faggots, dogshit on the sidewalk The scout is courteous, kind, clean as perrier The president has hemorrhoids, it will not pass. The house stands firm, faces China, Russia, Cuba faces Israel, Egypt, Iran Angola, Panama, Mozambique The brick glows, there is glory in the fresh white paint. It is all show. Inside the rooms, inside the seventies, wet spots crumble the walls and the moisture spreads.