Lights

Look at the lights shining

in the ink-blue night.

It's the town, perched on the side

of that distant hill.

Guess at the name calling

and the hot-cheeked shame

in the rooms, doors open wide

as the liquids spill.

From this distance,

we cannot hear the shouting

we cannot hear the screams,

we cannot but imagine

the demons in their dreams.

Look at the blood pooling

in the cold, dark mud.

It's the life, drained from someone

as luck trickles out.

Laugh at the police trying

on the scapegoat's fleece

with a man, mouth open wide

in a silent shout.

From this distance,

we cannot judge the outcome,

we cannot judge the dead,

we cannot but imagine,

the lovers in their bed.