portraits in sepia crowding the table
no mirror path, no sugar
we drink our coffee black
deserted roads are blossoming in our eyes
under the table - disgust
some well disguised hatred
dinner is never served
cause the cubists reinvented the atom
I stay by the window counting widow-days
wondering
how many motherless women
can teach their children what to say
to the never day

the skin of morning heavy
on windows, floors & mugs
blue-eyed wolves trace the scent
the fragility of life in indifferent forests
uncovered shoulders near the wind
slowly absorb the horizon, the new common sense
dozens killed killed killed
killed by bombs, cars,  trucks, guns, knives
hatred grows like mislettoe
the sky an endless empty whole
the same heresy errected with fresh blood

a winter born forgetting
some hands without fingers
some children cry
some wounds have no cover
the blanket of darkness sweet
hate grows like mislettoe, remember

it must be that
I woke up on the wrong side of the
moon hide tonight