The day the UFO stopped below the esplanade,
they interrupted the war for an ad break.

Cautious, deliberate, they offered vinegar
for nourishment. The sky was angst-brown.

A John Brack portrait with vivisected eyes
drinking up the muddy substance.

To make a blind evocation: a vision!
The dip of the earth, the turbulent wire trees.

All part of the sacramental fake –
sculpting sand dunes from cigarette butts,

the enclosed passions of a beer glass,
props and poses. The five o’clock tram. Aliens

along the tide-line making camera faces.
They were raffling tickets for the return ride.