Let Me Be Squashed

I want God and the angels
To trample me in the dust
So I will have the opportunity
To become a rose.
Better myself.

Please get me out of this hellhole
Oh Lord.

Pleasant to be squashed by God's
And the angels' golden heels
Run down by their spurs.

Roses

I lie on my bed looking outside
Smelling the roses' fragrance
Reminding me of the tea
I sip in my loneliness.

Tinariwen
Where is Tinariwen playing
Tonight? Are they playing
Somewhere before us moderns
Soothing over smoothing over
Our alienation?

Or are they warming
Their tea in that dry serene
Ocean in North Africa,
Poets pondering centuries?