I. The Map

Bunker-busters, daisy-cutters, kill-boxes, drones
slide into nerve, a gospel learned by rote:
desire refined to numbers, weight, and zones,
the body lifted cleanly into statute.
We sell it bright—the tagged, the priced, the blessed;
maps pulse, a breath held under screens.
A crater opens: children stand half-dressed,
all orphaned by the grammar of machines.
We know the land by how it takes the blow—
its passes flare, its lakes consumed by flame;
the caves inhale, trade routes go dark and slow
as patience tightens margins into gain.
We kill democratically—fire, food, and law—
and call the silence afterward withdrawal.

II. The Ground

The morning came incorrect. The light was thin.
Smoke stayed where rooms had been and would not lift.
We walked the street and found the street within
itself, collapsed by heat, reduced to drift.
A kettle split. The clock had lost its face.
Walls kept their angles. Doors would not align.
A book lay opened to a missing place,
its margin blistered past the final line.
We counted shoes, then stopped. The count was wrong.
A child’s name would not fit inside the mouth.
The well ran black. The radio stayed on,
repeating weather no one needed south.
Fire took the rest: the beds, the dates, the proof.
We stood. The day went on. The sky stayed blue.