war

Ballistic writing, be nice if Israeli bombs grow fat, cinder Islam and every waking body, the mantis and cloth drapes of each dwelling, ribbons and spirals of dust, watching the skies bludgeon with aching fever and bruise-swelling. Ashen faces charred with hot white-heat, scaffolds dry and bleached, endless trash-avenues of dirt and starving dogs, an arm, a leg, a pair of small feet. Perished horse, broken bottles and knees, A lavish royal palace, poetic nuclear breeze, melting bodies with faces laughing, death dancing on the skeletal leaves.