The foul odor of scarred flesh.

The reeking decomposition.

Bodies once animated, once so alive,

Now strewn across the moist ground.

The surgical strike.

The pin-point accuracy.

The smartest weapons,

Deployed,

To decimate the bad guys.

Black and brown people,

More often than not,

Pummeled to a pulp,

Black and blue.

While LCD screens miles away,

Surveil and scan for potential targets,

The unknown other.

The evil doers,

As mothers & daughters,

Pick out apples and spinach

In a market-place in the cross-hairs.

peace | love | uBuntu

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