This Wall

I don’t have a gun
Why’d you shoot me?
Stained years.
I was reading a book but
This mosaic patterned flesh
Now blown,
Seen-through as glass.
Notice the difference in meaning
Thought tiles
Cracked bottles from
Marrakesh scattered, sprawling and
Cannot be white.
Bear the thought
An instant reference
Static context

Dig down
Stretched out
Razor wire at the ready
Something solid set in motion
soft skin peeled back and
gloved hands are unreadable.
Foundations marked
Finish pointing.

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