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?






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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