Literally

tracer bullets streak the dawn
short and long
frantic message
against the dying dark
quick green fireflies on orange and red
a morse code scream
whispering through the volcanic winter
dash, dash, dot, dash
tied to a pigeon’s leg
fallen upon
crushed bones
feather eruption
feast of the falcon
words sent descend
as sentences unserved
pictures crawl
miles of wire
wingless into air and space
shrieking distant cries
to the world’s far sides
as a rain of craters
waiting to be
where walls, houses and children stand
a splash of sand and blood
particulate matters of war
softly downward drift
snow of dirt and gore
as heads upturned
hopelessly try to read the sky
finally bow in failure
to the gravity of
crumbled language and buried tongues
alas, the last, literally

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