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we only pass this way but once,
but we can at least
leave some evidence of our passing
along the road:
trees festooned with underwear,
broken telegraph poles,
large empty bottles
with ‘I drank this and I feel fine’
scribbled on the labels,
the remains
of enormous barbecued animals,
burnt-out swamp buggies,
carved onyx chessboards
set up with impossible problems,
gutted avant-garde cinemas,
skid marks,
smoking craters,
small exquisite water colours
pinned up outside the ruins of police stations,
and effigies of the world’s leaders
smeared with orange marmalade
and pitted with bullet holes.