From the minutes of the meeting – Some things are said that perhaps shouldn't be said. Opportunities to take them back are declined and people become upset. Nobody mentions the blood. At least nobody mentions the blood that fills the room to our knees. The blood we wade through to get to our seats. To get to this sorry impasse. 'We have reached a sorry impasse', the chairperson says and we all know it, ...again. It's not the first time and it won't be the last. It's every time: the present, the future, the past.
As we stand to leave, I feel my feet sink into the cadavers that comprise the floor and hear the soft crunch of child skulls that lead to the door.
Turtle Bay tombstone. Babylonian whore. Facade of peace. Engine of war.