Slinging shit to see what sticks,
you couldn't have caught me at a better time.
You see, when they used lime to rid
themselves of death, I was a giggling ape

​

boxed-in by a convoy of gentle women,
who laced each blackberry pie with
cyanide. And we let the gravediggers
do all that boring, manual work.

​

On fingering this grand spectacle
you asked wasn't I ashamed, to lean on
this gruesome subterfuge, letting the workers
get blamed for each act of the farce.

​

What could I do? There was nothing to do.
I had no answers left, but to shove faeces in your face.
Of course it stuck to that weathered dignity:
an expression full of shit to last a bitter life.

​

And then you would have chased me back to civilisation,
if only you had known the way.

​