the title comes, as drizzle sweats
broken through, the sun drowns
beneath the gray, i grope for purchase

slipshod, i scan forward
a break left, sea of wheat
waves of wind, hate the ground

i follow, war immense
miasma, red ichor flows
a fracture, i permeate

distance grows near
the hot breath of disease
pours from my future.

10/11/2006

Author's Note: Reflections on my future trip the garden spot of the world, Iraq.

Posted on 10/11/2006
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