Heads In The Sand.
Heads In The Sand.
© -MFB III
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Somewhere deposited in
four-thousand,
five hundred and seventeen
rectangular boxes lie,
the shattered remains
of dessicated dreams.
White mold covers
red and blue
mottled flesh,
in dank darkness
cloaked in silence.
More arrive weekly
dead-exed home in planes,
red-exed on mortality lists,
while politicians pontificate.
Endlessly pondering
the most delicate ways
of extricating the rest
of the live fodder still there.
Meanwhile in
snug, fetid spaces,
the lost ones are
slowly falling apart,
thanks to a futile
war in Iraq and
Afghanistan.
Think about it.
Not in any Foxed
up glorified spins
nor like the spins
they took as shrapnel
stole their breath.
but in real terms--
Can you smell
the stench of it all.
Not from the
Ground troops returned
beneath American soil,
but from the foul mutterings
of our past and present leaders
with their heads
still buried in the sand.