The automatic weapon carries his weight

as like the twist of a coin

destiny focusses in significant sight

 

his to serve the piercing spinning bullets.

Panther still

half crouched

behind deep shadowed walls

in blistered sun death whispers

 

unheralded names

in sand.

 

Personal histories explode to oblivion

cacophonies of blood oiled tendons

reap death harvest under uniforms

 

Pumped full some spills out,

then emotions, checked against

long festering echoes cry horror

 

of darkly serving co-ordinated bliss

unknown harmonies

death rattles of religion

that have to justify all of this.