Dust raised the days of the flesh,
flesh turned to dust.
In the interim rooms remained empty,
spring came, birds flew,
bombs were hatched.
We spilt Coca-Cola on newspapers all summer long,
let the voice on the radio rattle on.
Music swiftly wiped out every news flash
and on my face lay your hand.
Bombs didn’t fall here
another bottle of Coke toppled over.
Your mouth went in search of the glass.
The switch dimmed the radio voice.
The dead floated away in the Coca-Cola and
people were getting raped. We were busy loving.
As if that were possible.