War Machines
In times past:
Organic bludgeons,
Bloodied subordinates,
Heat for solid, wide hips.
The race for the sooty tern’s egg
and metal bent into grotesque shapes.
Modern war machines:
Subtle body language,
Bloodied subordinates,
Threats neatly formed with melted plastic.
Thousands of autonomous dies
pressing out red flecks of alloy.
In those last slipping seconds:
Saturated lungs
Frantic hands
The wails of those you’ve drawn close (if any).
Whitewashed walls that warp and fade
that are perhaps brighter than when you arrived.
Posted on July 14th, 2004 by Debo
