Shaking with all the coffee
wood tables, stairs, chairs-
this cafe is made with the slain,
with old spirits. It's too warm.

Out there walk by the day-mares; toothless and alone,
confused and wandering.
Family in prison, army, lost.

Others waltz with bulging
plastic bags,
adorned with beloved brand names,
kissed with reciepts,
blessed for ignorance
"beautiful."

A tiny girl across teh street with a smudge on her face smiles.
I pull a thin curve, wave a little.
Unto a land that no longer cares.
No longer breathes.