The Stainless Steel Cafeteria Don't try and interpret the American meaning of what I can do for my country while I've seen the animal in me go out on a hot summer's day and feed on fresh grass.   I followed him through dense city streets which could've been any urban area any Sodom sur la Mer any place carnal would've sufficed or it could've been just   where the ladies on Hunter's Corner hang out all looking like the girl I knew after my first glass of testosterone   cardboard cutouts of her leaning against shop windows in doorways in alleys backs bared to the scars on shabby brick walls   beautiful cutouts of adolescent voluptuary. I went with him as far as the town's boundary and let his sense of wildness run uninhibited   with the wind of the day - a Haast eagle the size of a horse shadowed his new-found ecstasy - an eagle with talons raking close to the treetops to   the rising smell of his blood. I can do what I want for my country I've decided. I've this borderless nihilistic wanderlust to cross horizons in giant leaps   to create lakes with my footprints to level mountains with sleepovers to swim in territorial waters and clean up fish stocks with my baleen wallowings. I can   move the moon as if it were a ping pong ball spin it around cover it with a fist put it in my mouth hang it out to orbit dripping with my spit. In my country of cows defecating   paths for themselves to follow and re-follow I regularly enter the organ-grinding movements of hills where gullies fold inwards bushes cluster where lovers   overflow flash floods begin boulders are born. I enter into a headlong confrontation against picnicking families of christ-like people   spread out on clean-white rugs best silverware best wine freshest bread best children shinier than apples bibles open to the anthropomorphic smiling sun. Some graves nearby   unwrapped like parcels from their concrete and clay appear to be waiting for holy light to drop in for the lucky few to go wherever they're going to breed more of themselves to   take to the air like a ‘saved from extinction' flock of flying antediluvians belting leather appendages across an ethereal gap forced open in the sky. They   appear to be waiting for something like that or that or that moment when sleep is primordial a death wish in the hope of waking up in a clinically stainless steel cafeteria   where the lobotomised owner is freely dolloping out double-coned ice creams to once suffering children. I can do many things for my country when I'm in the mood when   the right music is being played the animal is under control and happily tucked within me and I've got a greater understanding of my tenses like here and now. I've this   peculiar penchant for cutting out paper people for linking them up and decorating - no wallpapering my study each week afresh with new faces each clearly different   coloured in some hatted others bald or hairy or spiked some are black-skinned brown-skinned green and yellow hunched humped bandy albino and red-eyed. Others   I've run out of ideas of doing anything with and are lazily tacked like plain festive cards across the room. For my country I tear them all down on a Friday and feed them to the garbage for the city's dump. I don't exercise enough. I go for a drive across borders ignoring white dotted lines signposts in different languages men lurking somewhere inside large uniforms. I melt   through barriers go from road to road to thinning road exercising my right of diplomatic invisibility. All I can see at this time is the shadow of my car. There is nothing more to be seen.