Bullet Waltz

Looking at life through stained glass, imaginative cameras of our choice.
Until the mechanisms break; and you realise your nightmares are a repressed reality.

Playing air guitar with guns on the shore.
Revelling in the sunlight.
We made huts from banana leaves.
Patchouli oil still makes me feel nauseous.
Following scents in the dark..

 Walking through the terminal,
Surveying duty free, tobacco, alcohol, jewellery…
Suddenly I realise the planes are all carcasses.
And our flight will never leave.

26 black wolf dogs;
panting, running, gasping for breath through deserted Palestinian streets in vicious packs.
Pushing past tables and chairs,
splashing through puddles ruining reflected images of a mother and her child.
They finally stop and look up to the tallest window,
Begin to bark and then, I wake. Remembering that order to shoot
the village guard dogs.

A solitary man standing on the pier in a raincoat. Facing his eyes up the sky.
An empty ocean; cerulean blue.
A woman, blue as the sea, takes a small soldier and swims
back stroke as he clings to her breast child-like.
The water turning slowly to tangerine shades of orange and crimson.
Red.

Classical piano concertos in rhythm with the bombing.
A kid holding an RPG.
Dead.

Slaughtered Arabian horses, neighing terror.
Naked men emerging from water holding guns. Bearing only
their dog tags.
Walking from the sea to bathe the blood from
their bodies.

Sniper fire from the top of a building,
and we cant see where it comes from
but it flies in our direction.

Hissing RPG’s, shattering walls, stuttering firing and
a media correspondent, walking through bullets like Superman.


One soldier leaps up from the barricade,
dancing as though tranced as if he wanted to show off
a waltz with gunfire.
His firing sporadic with accuracy.

Looking at life through stained glass,
 imaginative cameras of our choice.

Until the mechanisms break…
And you finally wake up.