Bodies and parts of them
strewn,
scattered as a child would leave playthings on the den
floor;
the after-Christmas floor
A bounty of bodies; reality not terrible enough
over the span of time
to usher peace
Aortas still split. Guts fly
as teeth clench in distant meeting rooms.
Power and peace divided on tables.
When women are crowded behind the alley entrance
mission doors.
Their lives and babies’ lives
lacerated,
eviscerated as the wolf undoes a sheep in the night,
with only the moon to watch.
The carnage still not enough
to halt the scatter of bullets in the streets
or the viciousness that releases them.
Orphaned infants scream with forever-bruised hearts
while we deny under sunny, azure skies.
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