napalm

tearing off your clothes

leaving some with skin

transfixed to one another

like a smooth ribcage

can we recount?

can we tell whose lens it was?

does it matter

would it make a difference

the deed is done again and again

habitual genocide

countries coalition

killing kids pinãta

covered mosquito florida summer

napalm

gas stove

Sylvia Plath wearing a Buddha smile

she’s wailing louder than the sirens

we don’t hear a voice

only violence fills our ears

tinnitus of regret

peace prize

to a photo of lies

i’m going back to napalm

to spill my guts to the sky