Why do we experience such destruction as
moments of deep freedom?
For what reasons are these poor thieves
treated ten times worse than thieves in good suits?
Who is it, though, who takes charge when
there is no law?
Why do we always destroy what we need to make
life bearable?
Why do we shut down the world around this
wound in our language?
What will we end up by having to accept as
our real now?
Where will Karla & Darrel drift across to
now?
Why does it all end up in wet rubble,
cardboard, shattered glass?
Why has everything been taken from us at this
time again?
What feeling is it we have at this loss of
what defined us?
How dangerous will be our new constraints? .
. . or rather full of ridicule?
Why is the weeping red wound of our life
still all around us?
Why have Karla & Darrel halted at the
edge of this street now?
Who are you talking to, and why, and with
what language?
How can you know anything about us or dare to
give us voice?
Why do you respond to what has happened just
with words?
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