4.26.2002

I've been digging through the poem bin lately, trying to come up with one that fits the current mood more than the latest
"our crusade"
sky, shrapneled, bleeding;
metallic rain of aimless death,
seeding flesh-soaked battle
fields reaped by
rebels yet unborn
(c)

Note to self: stop watching the late-night news. And find something happy to wrap a poem around.

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