The model of Hell
as Dante knew
was Hiroshima.
A child of ash
and bone and blood.
Like my child.
The flash of
a camera's bulb,
so bright, so bright
some might call it
beautiful, if they
hadn't lost their sight.
What savages
they were to us
and we to them.
Then came the mushroom,
its in-human heat,
poisonous powder,
thick black rain.
Which level of hell
are we destined for
if we do it again?
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