by Lamont Palmer

From my living room
I saw dying. My
living room was now
a dying room.
Like a dry leaf in the wind,
I succumbed to the image, and it took
me where it wanted, to its own
dark, fearful place.
I watched the planes hit
the buildings, literally
enter them like they were
made from colored leggos.
I watched the fireball
like a bright red monster
devour the buildings hungrily,
and then licking its chops with its
tongue of flame, displaying
table manners from
the darkest regions of hell.
I saw people jumping,
screaming, using their lungs
and voices for the final time.
then I watched the buildings
collapse like a pummeled boxer,
a pugilist whose legs have
become boiling
water, steaming, but weak.
Commentators said it was
the death of America.
It was not the death of
It was the death of
And this draining complacency
will rot in the ground
and in the debris
Our eyes have been
opened by black smoke.

9-11 by Lamont Palmer

© Copyright 2002. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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