We fight with swords of steel,
Plunging our words through armored holograms.
Wounding, gouging, slicing through live flesh.
While the illusion of wholeness remains.
This clash over, we retreat,
Each of us to our own place of refuge
To heal our invisible wounds, where life blood rushes out,
Draining our very existence.
Undaunted, tomorrow we again pick up our Steel swords;
Body still bandaged and bleeding
We fight again...
Spurred on by the illusion of wholeness,
But not our own.
--Autumn 1992
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