Posted: November 14, 2013 in Chat
Tags: , , ,



That first bullet was finding its mark;

the shot and cry met each other.

Buildings, cars responded.


And so the negotiators snapped shut

black briefcases, their voices gone,

and the last flights home leaving.


All language then was of blame,

and all the mouths hungry.

All strategy was of limitation;


and all further reasoning blasted deaf

by a military staccato

against a bomb back-beat.


The swell and unfurling bloom

of that first blood

grew in all our houses


on the frontiers of revenge,

on the doorsteps of denial,

and of the indifferent.


  1. Wow! Thanks Roxi – you were quick off the mark there – I was still fiddling with my links when you came back. Bless you!

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