The warm piss in a dead ear.
The hamstring stretch of a leg
twisted under her, the strung hands
going numb. The fleeing girl’s
seared flesh, the shamed faces
turned away from us with grief
in their necks’ pulsing cords.
Muzzle the scurvy dogs! the soldier
shrieks, up to his knees in muck.
From the glacial, muttering fields,
here come cretinous Death
in his grinning black-cat mask,
riding a flying, red-plumed horse.
Catapults arch like vultures.