missiles guide the weary unto death
bombs rain till the land runs out of promise
a homeland of skulls and shattered bone
nightmarish barren real estate
its foundations full of of ghosts
© BH, 2025
Just a number. This one is going round with many of the same order. Death toll. Some say an underestimate. Some say otherwise. Why argue? Isn’t enough? More than enough…?
(from a longer poem, by the way, see Word Crime… which is also part of it…)
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