Paper Thin And Bones.


Paper thin and bones.


Squatting in

the dirt,
just inside

the door of

a hovel,
tiny child

already a

eating bugs

that pass,
spitting out

the crunchy parts,
flesh stretched

like a drum head
over visible

bones and viens,
eyes jack-o-lantern

huge, but little

light left in them,
hollow cast

much like Hitlers

stick figures
but African,

a Sudanese refuge,
Death gleams

in the tears

that dribble
down the

flattened plane

of her face,
as cramps

grip her bowels,
and her rectum

dry heaves.

Come mourn

she will

be wrapped
in an old grass

matt tightly
and carried

to a mass grave,
where many

children will

be rejoined,
tumbling together

for the last time,

and grim,
as tiny souls

fly far above,
to shelter in

an angels wings,
knowing hunger

there no more.




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