let cigarette ash fall on the dim carpet,
let your eyes roam into the estranged blackness outside.
You can hear violet noises,
the zoom of a speeding car
on the main road outside, perhaps a lover late for a date
or a fugitive from town.
Let not these vague simmerings scatter your thoughts
of love or hate or about those
who die or get killed without justice.
These humane thoughts too are evaporated discontent,
thoughts that will leave you soon
like so many before.
Lean back and read some love poems,
lines written under moonlight, of flowers
in a flowery language, disregard any coercion,
any attempt to be subdued into neoreality,
into the human condition.
These are lies, only words,
and what use are they to people under occupation
under permanent assault, humiliated and ignored?
Go back to your self, release your senses to
some mezcal, throw and shatter that glass later
and ignore the mess that shards leave.