The Phenomenology Of Being And Nothingness

Our boys are
killing their boys,
their boys

are killing
our boys
and the

puppet masters
sit happy
as hell

detached
from reality
in their easy chairs.

Someone
serves them
their food,

makes their bed
for them,
tells them

what they
want to hear-----
we are winning the war.

But, far away,
after the explosion
tears bodies apart,

you can’t tell
if they were
Islamic fundamentalists

or plain
old American
soldiers.

Pick up
that piece of flesh,
it’s somebody’s son or daughter,

that piece
of what used
to be

somebody…
arms… legs…
head…

organs…
cells… molecules…
atoms… nothing…