© By Boinkaz
Fishermen draw to a blue boil
vapors of gas, sudden fog:
the sure signs.
Nets cast cross a tumescent sky
The TV pistol whips your face with pundits.
Hills jam close to swaddle fast
the frantic spawn of this September’s womb.
They push like cloaked dolphins feeding long on tuna
It comes, this rising chord of Autumn war.
This brand management campaign.
A wildflower of petaled hands
put palm to palm in common effort,
to the central void of this dark flower.
Siloed husks yawn open, spores drop
for there’s atrocity to stop.
But petals too fall swift to ground
intentions gassed without a sound.