52.            SLEEPERS

There are bodies under many sleepers
Of a railway track to Maputo,
They may have had the sleeping sickness
And are now save from the haunted ones
Who besiege my honest actions
As they rations my writings
To that of the disabled insane.
They think I am John Wane
As an actor trying to be president.
I am only a philosophizing poet
A sleeper of the Creator
And I let live and love them
Through the my and field marshal’s
Images and words.