paint the unsettled scenery.

nobody move!
i didn’t dare take a breath.
were we ready for a war?
hardly.
foolish children, fumbling forth,
into a hellish world we cannot call home.
we can never call home.

sometimes i want to peel my whiteness off
and reveal the weary rust within.

they stole my notebook.
that made me cry.
so i suppose
it’s the screen ’til another notebook finds its way
(home)

thoughts of home make me cry, too.
hardly home-cooked meals and wholesome family fun,
but far from the beaten existence of a violent culture.

it grows dark, i grow weak.
i shall nestle in my hermitude,
i shall not speak.

elsewhere, egos soar and inflate,
i refuse to play all human games and sit.
and run.
and contemplate:

i
hate
ny.

but i love you i love you i love you!
and we are alive, somehow!

(at least the dogs smile,
fuzzy like furry like funk
crunch crunk)

a patter on the pitterpane, i’m parched!
[a shot fires, babies cry, the train goes by]
(no lie)