Passion

Perplexed by the utility of love - 
the blunt instrument by which we excuse our higher faculties 
like better judgement and grace.

Bound

Vanished from him
across the sea.
Drying eyes 
with salted air, 
the Northbound man 
set trade winds free. 
A raft adrift 
though lashings taught. 
Emptying his pockets,
scatter rusted keys. 
He recognized one:
strong toothed iconoclast;
a head worn. 
Exchanged tired looks. 
Escape from safe keeping 
or so would seem. 

Bombs away!

“Bombs away!” 
came the bombardier 
shouting to his captain.
“Bombs away.” 
his captain confirmed
low along the horizon.
“All that 
for one person?”
came the bombardier, again, 
though not one to question orders.
The captain thought it strange,
never one to question openly.
“Do you think”

-explosions rippled below- 

“do you think 
they’ll feel anything?”
For the first time, 
the bombardier wondered.
Only silence answered.
Bomb a building,
a tank, 
an army, 
any of many things;
they feel nothing.
One person, 



everything.