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POETRY TIME



If we fly



So we are right



On target?



Pinpoint and surface assurance fling

mortar at night visions. Laser and satellite

satisfy our curious justifications.



So we are right



Handed; sorry softy lefties.



We pound their positions and

pound our chests with nuclear fission.

curious our fire-for-fire penetration that

excuses excess and negates meditation.



Is instinct our only recourse? Are

dog collars and leashes the releases we

approve to vent our boiling rage?



Looking at our indignation we must not

spoil our grief upon naked piles of

mere humanity. Our rage leaves them

quivering, leaves us fascinated with

revenge.



If the pot boils, it must simmer upon the

hopes of greater fire power

more exacting than our buckshot.



So we are right



wing. If we fly to Peace�s Prince

for our refuge, defend our defenseless,

rebuild our hearts into temples not our

rubble into towers

we may find we have not traded

atrocity for boorish superiority.



- Mark Phillips