English Syndrome


the sun
is chilled
by english
breeze,

the gun
is stilled
by white
fingers,

a soldiers
vibrating
eyes dance
from body
to body,

he is hard
he is pumped
he is satisfied
he is finished
he is off,

now he waits behind
the lines infected
with war's treason,

his government
denying him
his souls cure,
denying him
his deaths reason.



JGH(c)2004