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Get a copy of this writing in the Mark Fleury 2017 poetry book the Eight Wheeled Doorway of Serpent’s Head on line:

The War Economy

Mark Fleury

I’d linger
Over the sun’s
Scalpel,

Dead to, though dining
On, pure Spirit.

The links end
Under a table. Chained to the mind’s

Heart, the ring around my neck,
Welded shut, shows me I am the one

Being consumed. Acres of apple trees
Descend into a valley, shaded

By surgery on Form.

The edges of their skin,
Where weapons are of factory
Walls, are white. Time is peeling the

Paint right off, for miles of warehouse.
Spirit, explosions, eye eclipsed.
Rotting core floats before me, revealed
Behind the walls of the war economy.

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