Tuesday, 16 April 2013


seen through the columns of rising smoke
the intention couldn't be clearer

while the tattooed roads wear the organic stains
as footholds for a memory of fallen phosphor rain

yet more caustic the harvest we reap
from the drone grown crone wept bones
even as the stone groves grow over the dead hope of
the pebble eyed children in their dreamless sleep

suffer the children our selfish gains
our bloody games

always the children

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