Hear us, O Lord. Aggression is part of us.
You polish your jewellery in the salons of heaven.
Everything about you glitters, your wristwatch, the diamond
at your invisible breast, below your invisible beard.
We are such ferocious animals, Lord, we’re irrational.
The long journey of the lizard was propelled by this
to the green jaguar standing in the driveway.
As you polish your nails, we begin to hate you.
All those who tell us the truth we hate.
All those who were strong – like Hitler and Stalin – we loved.
We are obsessed by the table with the green light on it.
We practise with knives in the boudoir and the church.
Ah, if it were only a game. But all things happen.
Because we have spoken too much, a heaven has fallen.
Because we have loved too much, a door has been slammed.
We stare at the light of Envy, green in the night.
What should we do to be saved? The screen slowly brightens.
You watch us with interest, a glass of pale wine in your hand.
‘The things that they do, the plays that my actors perform.’
We keep you alive in the silence, in an absence of angels.