The Captives
In a Norwegian slumber they came to take us away.
They used shovels and torches.
But mostly arms and strong fingers.
We were the final ones out of the terminal.
The cockroaches sing with us now.
We live in utter parlance.
Askance, downward goes our drives.
But this is not about us, no-no-not us.
We call our song the soul’s vertebrate.
And we refer to the question of a soul as an angel with its hand over its mouth.
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