Tags
Apocalypse, disaster, disease, flag, genocide, ghosts, maypole, Patriotism, playground, Poem, Poetry, War, weapons of mass destruction
The hound winds down the road with tongue askance,
his passing no relief to children’s dance.
Their feints remain of laughter,cries out loud
and kicks of dust below a desert shroud.
Encrusted mill of friends and foes around
shifts back and forth with ghosted creeping sound-
an earth near stopped to see insanities
off to prowl pretended causalities.
The flag-stripped orbit of a pole unspun
with rings of ash, a rose-shift-world undone.
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