Shots are fired.
Acrid fumes the first aggressors,
nasal membranes the first victims of
a methylated madness of intensified
attack.
Hands to mouth in a two-for one march
of military precision.
No mercy.
Purple-proof uniforms psychedelic in
a neon gloaming
of the Friday night mission.
Aniseed bombardment
No prisoners, no survivors.
Seek and destroy
Sobriety
firing into flame on the last orders
of Sergeant Zippo.
Coffee bean berets
burnished,
burnt on the bar; the pyre of
Monday’s forgotten good intentions.
Collapse close,
Expected,
Certain.
Left, right, left right…
Sambuca Soldiers on Parade.
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