Three Sketches of Life

Throw the dice once for a world newly ordered,

Let’s throw them, watching in awe what they show:

A puppet maker,

Crafting a smile out of pegs and of wood,

Some string sets attached

And some levers sawed off,

And some nails driven straight through the wood,

Through his cheekbones

So whenever he’d feel the desire to please

He could simply enact what his craftship has made

And let those lips made of wood form a smile in his stead.

He was never seen saddened,

Was never seen down

Until the day he caught on fire

And only cinders were found.


Throw the dice twice for a world reassembled,

Let’s throw them, watching in awe what they show:

A boy with a pumpgun,

Barely seven years old,

In a T-shirt that reads “Superman is my Hero!”

He kicks down the gateway to Congress and enters the hall,

Gun pecked, eyes squinted,

Fingers bent, barrel breathing

Liberation and smoke.

The boy’s laughing out loud because he’s playing a game,

His favorite pleasure,

Like a cherub from heaven in a world of disdain,

He is doing his duty, but he’s fighting in vain

Cause the purified moment will be tainted again.


Throw the dice three times for a world known forever,

Let’s throw them, watching in awe what they show:

A scarlet whore, waiting tables at a nightclub,

Serving whiskey,

And from every glass served stealing a sip for herself –

And then later, horizontal, she is waiting, she is empty

Despite trying desperately to somehow be filled,

She is hopeless,

Just enjoying some moments – that is all that she gets

Now that Babylon has fallen, and her old world is dead.

She tried to change it, tried to mold it,

But the world isn’t fair, and she’s just an old idol:

Being forgotten, that’s her share.

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