Black Ops
It’s that certain time of day
When you can’t tell grey from green.
I slip through cracks unguarded;
Claim my coup de main unseen.
I’m no flash, but all drive
As I haunt the shadow docket
With the secrets of Masada
Neatly folded in my pocket.
I leave a gaping nighttime hole
In the peaceful daytime sky.
I exist to torment princes
Who have made sad mothers cry.
Copyright © Michael Kalavik | Year Posted 2022
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