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I had a dream, above a forest the moon was covered in black flames, the wolf had its ear to the ground, tracking the sound of a bullet returning to it's wound. Were they white shadows or angels who in turn wore a drop of blood suspended in the air as a tear. 

At the moons command a pair of white hands carve Martin Luther Kings and Muhammad Ali's faces, they moved across the sky but the message remained the same.
My face on a marionette being controlled by a marionette comes into focus.
Desert searches for a tongue to catch the ventriloquist's echo, the Arab does not see propaganda's moon in the eyes of his camel birthmarked by the stains of Indian genocide. The cries of Comanche skies pass from lakes to rivers as they take delivery of the death masks of times daughters, the colour  and design are all the same.
 

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Barry, I like how this one traverses multiple cultures. It's all good, but the last line captures me the most:

On 8/1/2020 at 8:22 AM, eclipse said:

The cries of Comanche skies pass from lakes to rivers as they take delivery of the death masks of times daughters, the colour  and design are all the same.

A captivating work.

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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