Open 11am to 8pm
Royal Festival Hall (Level 5), Southbank Centre, LondonOpen Tuesday - Sunday from 11am to 8pm
Artwork by Paul Peter Piech. Words by Taigi. © the Estate of Paul Peter Piech
trove of middle-child
when has your skin ever been other
begs you fix it
as the rains tear rotten inflorescence
from the parasol tree -
Noon passes in this twentieth century.
My pretty wife sleeps in a hospital bed.
My young wife's pretty eyes are dying.
I watch the helpless hands
I watch the helpless eyes
Of all the sad doctors.
You build great aeroplanes,
You build lightning missiles,
Force powerful energy
Into small bombs.
O men men men
Can you promise nothing but death
To we who settle this planet?
Why can't you kill
of my pretty wife
of my young wife?