Oslo's doorsteps

Oh, the Siren with her aqua tongue,
her shimmered tears that swirl and sink,
weeping for Atlantic triumph
as her sailor drifts away; she says,
"I lost my only love to London's river"

Psychedelic blossom smoke, Hieronymus, disguised!
Plugging dissonance into wire-rats and odysseys
little cages, rotting sages, burning pages through the ages
tripping hard across the rocks of Yeats and yesterday
he wipes the mist from his teeth as he slowly says:
" I lost my only love to Beijing's sorrow"

Tapioca miner with an ear for lupine calls
howl as the strings to Stravinsky, oh God
I can't believe they cut my heart and
gave it to the Aztecs! loathing in her
banquet ties, all too clear, too prescient,
to live is to love is to leer is to leave, so cry!
"I lost my only love to L.A.'s highways"

Minerva, wisdom, logic falls around you like a skirt
Minerva, endless, mighty tower, perhaps of Babel?
Minerva, corporate, incorporation of irreverence
Minerva, long expired and lost among a flock
What say you now? The time is near!
And what is that I hear?
" I lost my only love to New York madness"

Empty-headed plastic people praying to their plastic god
basket-walking malcontent with sieves inside her underwear
she is the product of modernity, she buys herself a pill
the cure-all to her endless breathing bully box of bastards
and I! and I! and me! and mine! The glutton, she must harvest more!
And I hear a tragic violin that sings her final dirge;
"I lost my only love to Cairo trinkets"