Camouflaged

           post-pacifistic stride,

simplified

           since sanity’s surrender,

stalls upon shrapnel-swept path

          Twitch

          of a thousand reasons to run

places illusion of movement

          in exhausted, hollow stare

Calloused feet,

          burdened by toes of hot coal,

sear prints into boots

          that serve and destroy,

skirt pernicious perimeter,

         crush onions without tears,

kick rising crust of compassion

senseless

Another cordite-scorched mile,

          trampled,

                     into Devil’s dust

and incoherent prayers

that cling to the backs of flies

                   cruising new restaurant strip

A pause to scratch

                        edge

                            of itchy soul

            with sight of rifle,

that delivers death,

                      like pizza

                      stuck to lid of box

     c) C.Butler 2005