November 11, 2012

Annually,  from the sluice
Of fallen leaves,
The shallow pace of earth provoked
Into floral hysteria.

A black spot
On gaudy crêpe,
Papering over bullet holes.

You drop coins to explode
In a plastic can,
Washing the smell of gas.

Digging trenches deeper
To remember the sacrifice
Of old photographs,
The hollow glory of a cluster bomb.


5intheface – 11-11-2012




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