308 – Daymare

Her pale, naked body
Quietly hovered over fields
Of freshly planted shrapnel.

Fragrant blooms
Of cordite and hot metal
Popped open where her shadow
Licked the ground.

Wings of night and silent fire
Pecked and tore the dangling flesh
Of sundown sky.

A single flower
Danced among the ashes,
Singing a song of madness…
And renewal.

Clean slate,
White sheet.

Kiln plate,
Wide shit.

What difference does it make?

When everything burns down,
There nothing left to do
But build again.

• • •

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