Forgotten bottle sits upon
chilled coster so long ago
in a couple of hours
Radio still plays hits
circulating through a long-dead heart
VIII, so it seems.
Key clicks,
five soldiers fall
into pre-drilled foxholes,
letting their guard down for only a second
to long,
just like any day though not
so much
head wrapped in a cocoon
never opening
to let the butterfly emerge,
more like suffocating it.
The very thing bringing new life
dies
Hoping for a new day of sunshine and rain
and telling my left from my right


...

wait,
foot or hand?

...