Hell is full. The earth its new holding cell. And you, you bureaucratic angels heaped in heavenly conference. Turning a blind halo while filing reports, stamping passports, whispering amongst your feathered selves. “The lines busy”, “please hold”, “leave a message”, “We’ll have to get back to you on that one. “Troops withdrawn, this place too much for even them to withstand. We suffer alone, recruits down, dying .Soon there’ll be no one left. Send aid ,armies, Your pompous delegation of saints. If not”¦.At least then, a pair of your wings.
Prayer to Bereaucratic Angles
Sailing on the breath of a prehistoric yawn. Notes on Cambodia and Thailand