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Morning in Tal Afar, 2005

Silent dew on everything
the men under gear
spread out like shells after a storm.

They sleep under a heavy
mat of exhaustion
like grounded kelp beds, wasted under early sun.

I sit re-typing old poems,
sifting through sea-wrack,
and I my teeth want to know

why sleeping men look dead?

 

 

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TJ Reynolds writes poetry and fiction in Long Beach, CA for the vain and hopeful purpose of changing the world. He dislikes war, squabbling or even extensive horse-play. One day, TJ assumes, this will seem prudent and even kind to his three small children.

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