Just got back from Vietnam baby, and that's a long, long way from New Orleans... B.B. King
Choppers off in the friendly skies.
This whirling defies gravity. A dying fall.
Talons of tracers reach toward heaven.
Just being alive violates your parole.
Beneath, a carpet of destruction.
Live ammo. A round of rounds. Incoming.
Smell of burnt flesh chokes. Crispy critters.
Napalm as the new normal. Flares beget light,
illume a scene of mushrooms and shades.
No hurry. The dead are patient. Wounded less so.
Bag'em and tag'em. Don't mean nothing.
Never did. Sky up and wing away.
Always more. Return again another day.
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