we keep on driving eating talking
we move forward in darkness
into the foliage
another man collapsed
crumbled cardboard
we halt for a while
we glance sideways
we follow on
hand on the wheel
mental tune
we move among greens
in the thick of the night

a strayed boy returns to Beirut 
coming from the massacres
he shakes his gaze
the city remains
the dust is the same
he dances and drinks within the war

we all are at war even without war 
as some go down
we hesitate and follow
we snug the shroud against the evening breeze 
we endure the front
we re-step the dance 
the path doesn´t wait
our time becomes less

in Beirut or Little Indian everybody will fall 
we’re already at war before we were born

a pause sometimes 
and then we proceed 
one more pill against fear
no doubt we will fall
we mash the vegetables
fingers float on the soup

settled for death we spell out war

we advance through the foliage
we advance into fear
we walk confidently
we macerate fragments
we write we love
tinted within
the warheads on the beach
the shard-streets
the head in the desert
the exposed hands

toda repetición es una ofensa 
y toda supresión es un olvido

how many times we die till we rest?