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1 " Cursing themselves in ragged dreamsfire has singed the edges of,they know a slow dying the fields have come to terms with.Shimmering fans work against the heat& smell of gunpowder, making moneyfloat from hand to hand. The next momenta rocket pushes a white fistthrough night sky, & they scatter like birds& fall into the shape their liveshave become. "
― Yusef Komunyakaa , Dien Cai Dau
2 " We move like a platoon of silhouettesbalancing sledge hammers on our heads,unaware our shadows have untied from us, wandered off& gotten lost. "