THE BLOODLESS WAR

Hollow blocks of ivory
hang by the nerve inside my head.
 
The absence of blood
suggests a healing already completed.
 
Picking out the remains
feels like the death of things long dead.
 
Despite the loss of once-fixed pillars
I fail to feel defeated.
 
A shift of view reveals what lies
right at the back underneath red skin.
 
A tiny town of glowing white
circling a mastermind of strategy.
 
Their advance is monomaniacal
marching composed in a synchronized grin.
 
Filling up the empty trenches
without the hint of decay or cavity.
 
My laugh is one of knowing
the war has for now been laid to rest.
 
Thirty-two entrenched reinforcements chant
“There is no such thing as powerless.”
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