deepundergroundpoetry.com

Motion

That was the game
 
to hustle a black globe
teaching natives
how to maintain
or face blank bullets
 
Iím unsure after all this time
if the gun existed at all,
if my fingers pushed, pulled
clicked a release.
 
Bodies lay strewn, angular
stark ribcages against torn flags,
ageless wounds of wreckage.
 
There was no sick bag
on my final flight.
24601
Written by 24601 (John Brady)
Published
Author's Note
26/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Ahavati
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