look outside, it is snowing, desert wars covered with snow. i have a hat and tall boots: it is hard to believe that nothing changed. or, look: it is snowing. nothing changed, and it is hard to believe that there is a war going on.

uncanny symetry of these worlds. mine, here, with the snow falling, and theirs, with falling men.

trite metaphors will take us nowhere. the repetition of the verb "falling" does nothing to bridge nightmare and routine.

you better believe it. routine nightmare. of "necessary sacrifice."

we have electricity as we used to. a morning shower and an espresso. and even the wireless works.

in my dream, someone, or something, is tearing bodies apart, a savage force ripping human limbs. a head falls and stares straight at me.

i want to say, like a page torn out of a school notebook and lying crumpled on the floor.

but it is dark already and my mouth is gagged.

write poems on porous paper and use it to patch wounds.