Sunday, June 27, 2021

poem 70

sky rumbles
bombers streak
Itza stares
beyond blue
layers shift
fire out once
more streaks tear
home strip fuel
up fill up
rip southward
again and
Itza pins
wire frames shut
hands aching
startling thought
terrible
how what saves
douses homes
forests fields
skills planes born
of dropping
red hot death
somewhere else

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