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Array
(
[sid] => 120084
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Guts
[time] => 2006-05-15 03:54:33
[hometext] => erm...war?
[bodytext] => Have you ever choked on the tiniest tin solider around? Have you ever leapt across the bank, bright and breezy Watching the desert march going on and on and on The guts of the desert wrenched out in a whirlwind of noise. Have you ever seen the guts of the dead? Paraded around like so much worthless fluff. Collateral damage they call it, collateral damage they see it. But really, it’s all just guts. The sand between the toes, the calm before the storm, The lick of cement, painted on the walls to hide the blood. In a blaze of schlock and awe, Lock, stock and a million smoking barrels. A face hides a thousand secrets, tells a thousand lies, The secrets and deception hidden inside the tick-tocking Tick-tocking, tick-tocking, of the boom-box Hidden beneath the burning sun. Eighteen bullets, a bullet for everyone, their name engraved Upon its rough hewn surface, beyond the smoke and sun Entering flesh, exiting bone with sounds of mirthless laughter, Echoing through empty silence, falling on deaf ears. Twenty million toy soldiers in the sand, their faces hard, There expressions glum as the dead, their hearts dull. Passive media manipulation, trial by text and memo. No one listens anymore because in the end: It’s all just guts. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 333 [topic] => 9 [informant] => franko [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 6 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AnniversaryPoems )
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