A needle passes through a blackberry.
Watch it sink to the floor, clutching its chest.
The officers watch the from the cliff
As young blackberries rush to their deaths in the mayhem below.
The whir of the rotors drowning out all sound,
And creating a silent movie of carnage down below.
The sky is filled with clouds,
As though the Earth were trying
To hide bloody, juicy scene.
Lick the blue-soaked ground.
Can you not remember the voice of your mother?
Don’t cry over spilt blackberries.
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