For whom the bell tolls
time is a sentence of line breaks
trenches dug in against political reality
furies the lives take
where fascists launch fantastic weapons
to land in splattering bursts
bodies burning
Across the Jordan
In difficult pink hills
brambles and thorns hide trails
where guerillas set traps
thrill stressed memories were made
elephantine echoes enfiladed by death
clappers on skull housing units
Investments to hold generations firm
reporters speaking as insiders
bullets passing overhead like externalities
so unconcerned with the arrival of fall
while the point of aim is a recticle
shared with thee
the final call.
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