Somebody loves you in Sacramento.
Although the flight of money on wires
makes jumping this joint difficult,
somebody loves you in Sacramento.
Europe is dead and all the talk
is of burning bondholders and buildings.
ATMs are glyphs in our throats,
stones in our stomachs.
If somebody loves you in Sacramento
they’ll write statements in their poetry,
digitise love letters to declare:
Dear Sir or Madam, we can
change your default into decency
and negative equity into futurity.
Since somebody must love you in Sacramento
we can begin again.
Robocop the weak, teach the young to Vogue –
gestures speak louder than words.
My Sacramento love, you could spray-paint
your desire on the Dáil.
Space walk your way to the Green
body pop in revolt against the 80s.
You may be small, squat and hairy,
but surely a love anarchist in Sacramento
beats the bureaucracy of loss?