dogs under the table…

what shall man place
upon god’s table
for the feast
of
salvation
what morsel
will man offer
that
is
uniquely his
other than
the dried bones
of
sons and daughters
sacrified
in wars
for
man’s pursuit
of
wealth
and
fame

from hallowed ground…

lingering light of lost lives
reflected in moments unspoken
tears arise from the earth
for those still living
among erida’s children

concurrent moments…

a child’s
body
effloresces
miles
from the nearest
oasis
no
sounds but the wind
and
dry sand
obscuring
the body
in
land
destroyed
by man
making it
a child’s grave yard
a drink
tasted
was sent back
with
appropriate
angry looks
of
utter disgust
since
it was
obvious
the martini
had
far
too much
vermouth
making it
undrinkable