Eyes encircled in kohl and barbed-wire
droop full of blood-loss to sanded sheets,
Frankenstein stitches are the boundary markers,
The military base is shacks on the sand as wind

carves inaccuracies into the image,
heals petty ghosts by warping panes of glass in photographs,
as Eric droops and listens in
the invaded bed, the sandpaper shack scrapings of the desert irritate

and pollute sleep with wire superstructures,
transmissions that hang human eyes above a wounded landscape.
A Human Being is told s/he is responsible for everything
but has no power to change anything without an immense expense of will.