Tall yellowed grass
spun like black widow webs
through angry tropic jungles.
Guerrillas cocked in bushes and
hung from harpoon trees.
Bodies crumpled in smoldering camps,
raped by Congo hands.
The sky is blue when it’s not stained
in clouds of steaming bruises,
colored by shrapnel and busted green grenades—
Gone off from grumbling planes.
Hate reigns over dark haired heads
rank from renegade nights.
Nights made day by harrowing explosions,
firecrackers over cane fields.
And children—coddled by naked mothers
in tents of canvas and cord.
Hot, fuming bullets
smoked out of metal guns.




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