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LEUNIG, Michael





















The Summer Palace

Make a little garden in your pocket,

Fill your cuffs with radishes and rocket,

Let a passionfruit crawl up your thigh,

Grow some oregano in your fly.

Make a steamy compost of your fears,

Trickle irrigate your life with tears,

Let your troubled mind become a trellis,

Turn your heart into a summer palace.


The Crowdless Man


See him wandering alone,

The crowdless man,

He has no group,

He has no tribe,

He carries his identity in his pocket.

His pocket has a hole in it,

His story has a hole in it,

His tragedy is not a tune you can hum.

His suffering and sacrifice,

They have no handles;

His persecution has no logo,

No shrine, no yardstick.

His joy has no credentials,

His observations have no fixed address;

There are no awards whatsoever.

His gaze and yearning are way outside the loop,

His pilgrimage has lots of holes in it.

See him wandering alone.

Beaming to himself.


At the Top

At the top of the tallest building in the world

Sat the saddest man in the world

And inside the man

Was the loneliest heart in the world

And inside the heart

Was the deepest pit in the world

And at the bottom of the pit

Was the blackest mud in the world

And in the mud lay the lightest, loveliest, tenderest,
Most beautiful, happy angel in the universe.