Starling Wire

by David S. Pointer

What if the windshield of war and peace
were a glass eye: blue, green, brown,
laser red,
no matter,
invisible flamboyant mirages
becoming more vivid
microscopicesque
across the pagelessness, atop conflict ash
not
sprawling
on
un-airconditioned anti-social constructions
or retro-futuristically fitted, and refitted
for a carbon fiber marathon adventure run
through vast crematoriums inside craniums, 

mortuaries, until starling wire swung down