That day when Di and Dodi died, apocolypse prayers
were read. Not in hopes that it would never come true
but in the belief that population control is best observed
from safe castles in Scotland while the religious split
deepens via CNN, Fox, fundamentalists all: each mosque
now jihadist, each church raising coffers, a la Falwell, for
the CIA, large jets, troup and arms logistics, as a large
multi-theater war persists with nary a peep of descent.
A small yellow desert-flower, maybe five inches high, with a
half-inch diametered blossom shakes in the wind caused by
seventeen tanks rolling by. A hand shoots up, it’s a 14-year-
old girl volunteering to blow up a cafe, and herself. The
beautiful, quiet, consistent hum of a drone belies its
mission: to bomb the house of a suspected terrorist.
Parchment, hand-made when the artists pulls soggy fiber
up thorugh water, accepts ink that seals the fate of grunts,
jarheads, bell-bottoms, and flyboys who have already been
in harm’s way for 13 years now. We’re approaching Crusade-level
madness, yet the protests, if any, don’t get covered: TV war scenes
staged to replicate PC-Games as kiddie-propaganda becomes reality.