They Fall Today, Still

as Las Vegas blood pours on Manchester in droplets the shape of poker chips scattered, dropped by a God laughing all the way to the bank when the lattice streets, corners and cobbles and bridges of London bend with a gasp backward, with the suppleness of a rheumatic spine, to lay a hand over a Barcelona street and Parisian concert hall, whilst trying to shade a train track in Madrid from searing heat, although years before where Dachau had no birdsong, its buildings walled away from ignorant eyes, death camps today are not so silent with their terror in plain sight, hidden inside vans and suburban semis, in red brick lecture halls, in hundred and forty characters that hashtag extremist slaughter beside an Orlando rainbow strewn with special offer laptops that print out onto paper guides to gain a gun or build a bomb to ram a Berlin Christmas market where mulled scents of a year are muted by screaming wi-fi connections allowing a faceless anybody to sign up to chat rooms to fell fellow men for beliefs to better an already fallen foreign land, lost alongside the fallen of the Great War that are not forgotten because they fall today, still - only now, in shorter pockets of horror: in broadband routed trenches untraceable; dug within devices cradled in a millennial’s palm