mao tsetung, where are you tonight
sexing up poor yellow girls in
the poor yellow villages, where the
sun goes down like something alive
wriggling over the horizon and dying
just over the rise,
under the hot, sudden stars there is
something not-quite like the love in
miss saigon, there are
no lone saxophones or sad tunes -
but a helicopter accompaniment
and the smooth legato of silence
between gunshots, when time is
is growing holes
like gum stretched
too thin -
lock up your hearts
lock up your fingers
tonight saigon is toppling
and with it our loveliness