He was clueless in Gaza

sucking on the folds
of his cheeks, one
side at a time, back
and forth, running his
tongue over the spaces
where his teeth should
have been, working on
a moaning sound deep
inside that rose in
intensity until it looked
as if he might explode
from all the time bombs
that were about to go off
inside him.
He was so bled out
and wide eyes crazy
without vital life forces
he no longer had the energy
to defend himself against
the demons that had
taken over his life.
He looked in my direction,
blue eyes in a field of red,
shaking hands and dis-
colored lips. I'd seen
dead men with a better
chance of making it out
of whatever desert they
were in than his chances
were of getting out of
anywhere alive.

by Alan Catlin