Here is the twentieth century
in its long dim hall
with murderers and conjurers
sitting at its table
in the flickering candlelight
of their victory
waiting for their meal.
The waiters come out
one by one
from their hidden corners
balancing dishes of darkness
on their heads
to serve their guests.

They will all drink from the same bottle
watch the evening fall among the trees.
Parades of drunken soldiers
wave their bloody flags
and march down the street.

Through the window
the moon will soon shine.

When they finish their feast
we will sit at that same table
and drink the same wine
too.