My country is in chaos.

seats of power are exchanged,
unelected come-down
and steep fog of uncertainty.
The poor are painting their signs;
others lock their doors.
Tear gas spills in streets
far from Suburbia-
on the shoulder of Europe.

I struggle for sleep.
Not for tragedy,
but missed calls
and lack of shelter.
For you and your darkened corner,
bleak winters-
the last time I saw you in the sun.

Petroleum fills
the lung of the sea.
Swarms gather in luscious greed,
footfalls over concrete:
the peace sign,
white poppies,
paper cranes.
Stubborn **** in the rock,
the busker with fingerless gloves;
the nightclub spilling over
into violence.

I strain my eyes,
not in tears
but in chemicals
and lack of vitality.
For you and your
elusive path through life,
your over-complicated strides.
Simple, temporary medicine

that is the comfort
and never the cure.

The stars blot out
one-by-one.
Each neon skylight
fractures the night
in pink clouds:
flowers die over the railings
where they could not
save his life.

I contain my breath,
not in calm
but poisoned blood
and lack of air:
I can barely breathe
without you here.

My country is in chaos.
Earth spins in a slow disease.
Still, all I can think of is you.
Whether you are thinking of me.