Loud rumbling bikes. Smothering solder guns.
Rusting sculptures. The toil of women willing
To bake their skin to keep their children safe.
Three sides of a square cluttered with papers
Strewn accidentally. Not enough to hold life
Together for one nomad. He moves again.
Dread locks us. Prisoners still dream. Cracked
Paint reminds pigeons to fly. Hot bricks scorch
The feet of toiling women. Can we keep children safe?
The operation fails. Feet hurt just for standing.
Time. No one has the time. Even our souls rebel,
Not enjoying this new supposed form. Life?
Smoke diffuses. Today’s medicine is not
Quick enough to slow us down to past paces.
Toiling women. Smiling children. Non-time.