Which one is the bomb?

Which one is the bomb?


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.

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