drones




Some birds

Black and folded

Like tiny guns

Pointed at the sky

Sit on branches made of

Aluminum foil

In the cut-out world

Where dolls made of paper

Walk firing angrily

At each other

Across

Dunes made of

Sandpaper

This is my face

Its made of pieces

Of raw wire

And sinews of

Newsweek and Time\

The New Yorker is my

Left hand and Sports

Illustrated is my right hand…

Fox News spawns more of me

The people I have within

have

No souls

The drones

empty

Canisters

Of poison

And they run

Through the air

The little birds of war

Slicing through the

Devious night

Firing words

Into tents full

Of fear.

Anxiety

Death of little

Moments

Life never was wasted

Like this before

We had these birds.