From the minutes of the meeting –
Some things are said that perhaps shouldn't be said. Opportunities to
take them back are declined and people become upset. Nobody mentions
the blood. At least nobody mentions the blood that fills the room to
our knees. The blood we wade through to get to our seats. To get to
this sorry impasse. 'We have reached a sorry impasse', the
chairperson says and we all know it, ...again. It's not the first
time and it won't be the last. It's every time: the present, the
future, the past.
As we stand to leave, I feel my feet
sink into the cadavers that comprise the floor and hear the soft
crunch of child skulls that lead to the door.
Turtle
Bay tombstone. Babylonian whore.
Facade of peace. Engine of war.
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