By Stephen Cheney
Strangers meet, IFF.
Shadows killing shadows.
Shells and empty cases,
an acrid, metallic
White flesh torn, running red.
A personal history flowing from the heart;
unique human memories lost in the sand.
Imposed ideas are never favored.
Calls to Prayer
cannot stitch up the wounded land.
When you can stomach no more,
cough it up.
(Image: Prayer in the Mosque - Jean-Léon Gérôme)