the quiescent melancholy of summer nights drowned in sun-dried spirits,

twenty-first century suburban life marred by the ideas and thoughts

of those dying thousands of miles away.



the ancient radio exuberates with political grandiloquence,

nearby sheep fall prey to the reactionary bite of the media wolf -

they scream profanities and point the finger to all corners 

of the globe (bleeding from their clawed grip.)



impervious to the intuitive eyes of those living in the underground,

below the kill zone of tabloid editorials, forever seeking a way

to overthrow the fading imperialistic governments.  



desert sands blow through the polluted atmosphere,

melting vulnerable alliances and blinding those who pretend

to make the world a better place, who treat the foreign invasion

with all the subtlety of clearing litter from the high street.



cultural divisions - the sound of a scimitar clashing with the steel edge

of a bayonet, and the people will disintegrate into the catacombs and

footnotes of history books, and we'll forget who we even fought for.