War Machine

The war machine opens its eyes, slits, death seeking focus. Scales unwind on scales, reptilian, political intrigue in layers and careful – the dragon shifts its body weight, calculated slow roll, armies positioned like pieces on a lattice board. Power barons  politic the precipices of their brinkmanship and their moral high grounds, delighting in fantasies of unleashing Armageddon while all their own and precious are close and guarded. Anonymous conscript legions are deployed and far away, they die in the searing violence of chaos and carnage. The dragons eyes blaze with the brilliance of all the fires in hell, its spit a river of death flooding the scorched earth of some foreign land, a theatre, a stage for the prancing wits of presidents and generals, their wind up toy the vast armada of their nation state, relentless mechanized killing machine that rolls inexorable across a black landscape of nightmares.

ac. 2012


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