The Bohemian Coast
There are no clocks over there
Or the public ones are wrong,
The laws refer to non-existent scenes
And are not remembered long.
Sudden rumours and rushes of alarm
Greet the Ministers of State,
Who conspire in session to do harm
But then bungle or too long deliberate.
Which leaves the odd ones out free to concoct
Fairy tales describing how you struggle
Through the desert to the city but find it locked,
And how, on country roads,
They met strangers who were kin,
Running together like dogs
Past nativity windows you can't go in.