Work In Progress Poem by Leslie Philibert

(Get this right; an ethical trap,
a body count; working title..Lost Children) .

So it all goes to hell; a ring of heavy men
at a microphone; the same film; the next mouthing,
then teddies in rain.
(Macbeth knew it; there are only victims) .

And a savage god that asks for much
a morning smashed
a paper torn
a chain broken.
(we are absent; we look)

And in a dust land a mother`s face
turns to water; a stranger,
a little cake turned bitter.
(we are all lost, understanding is smoke) .