Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Every time I read target, I think people.

baited breath

call it air strike it’s fingers 
deciding when 

it’s faith 
and limbs torn after

a breath toll rising 

it's personal
the fumes

call it air so the struck
go mist 

hunted lungs shred to blood 
go mist

a body's too hard
to inhale 

those who get hit 
rendered gust 

fist to ashes
knees to dust 

gas words mask

war churns muscle 
to musk 

still people though
the fumes