Machine Gun Victims
A Poem by Matthew Bass
The intersection of a third world market: An insurgent, and old man a woman, or a child broken under dawn; sloppy pools of bone and flesh. What they never saw will never see again under the terrible orange sun. And the machine guns continue to laugh day after day year after year, like background noise.
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© 2012 Matthew Bass
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Added on October 6, 2012
Last Updated on October 6, 2012
Author
Matthew BassSt. Louis, MO
About
It´s funny how we think we are all on the cusp of something, and just have not been recognized yet. I am no different. I don´t really care all that much, but at the same time I do care. .. more..
Writing
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