Orwell at the Kremlin: Malaysia Airlines Flight MH17—03 by Walter Bargen

A landscape of torn and burned blankets 
That can’t be mapped. A phantom that must find a body.
A wrist that denies its scars. An arm that claims no
Attachment. An existence that believes in less
And less. At this early hour there is no hour left.

The alarm clock wails down its electronic throat.
Not minutes before the next step,
But minutes before a final step.
Then there’s an eruption without a Vesuvius.
A flight without feathers, without wings.

A crash just the same. Bloated suitcases 
With the dismembered scattered 
Over the Donetsk-Oblast. Only silence left to store 
in the crushed overhead compartments.
Forever blowing to the east.