Come Saint Damien

set upon by doves and arrows shot

from a dear mouth as yours

embroidered yellow on a tablecloth

with chicken bone and dud

hand-grenade teeth and an apple

gnawed to talk through

we'll wrench peace

from the lion's maw

supper with us, Damien, we'll boil our

brains too soft for warfare

we'll march a stenched beat

into a newly spoke land