INSUBSTANTIAL
INSURRECTION
The blue army cot at the riverside clinic, that tent-camp
fronting the marshland : it's only a place in the mind of
a madman. Counting the dead and the wounded, trailing
through the dying like Whitman on parade. Why would
we have even come here, if it wasn't just to die : black
bullets scorching the treeline, tearing off bark and branch
alike; things falling on the horses' heads, men tumbling
like mannequins from the backsides of their steeds.
The blood bubbles, and the amputees.
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