Remembering that war, I’d near believe
We didn’t need the enemy, with whom
Our dark encounters were confused and few

For a saving grace, we didn’t see our dead,
Who rarely bothered coming home to die
But simply stayed away out there

Are exhibitions of bad taste on a scale
Beyond belief, filling your living room
With mud or lava, blowing the schoolhouse roof

Slicing the sphere in planes you map inside
The secret sections filled up with the forms
That gave us mind, free-hand asymmetries