The flints of war
are flung on restless currents
inside caves wrung with the winged blind
and barely nights that choke the ice-breathe.
upon spit flares and splitting claws
thrash innards like swelling pulp
hung devoured head numb
detaching pieces of bone trash
that once coaxed mighty shields
made puny like shattered slate
hurled upon the stagnant shameless fly tip
of the nameless and unmourned
sharing their sacrifice with the
pointlessness of forgotten memory. .
Why distort the untamed expectation to
the rotting churn before the grief can
stalk the beaten swollen corpse
out of its human stars
and its night spectacles free of night vision
that flows simply through
the wonder glinting trillions
still unmolested by that lethal grate?
Why drain the spew of hope
as man lies without the comfort of beginning
to break the seal by ink
only to burn its books where wisdom is ?
Why do we ignore the regiments dug-in
in their permanent trenches
beneath our hollow that will collapse
our crave for roads and malls
above our fallen but beneath our sink ?
Aren't we the caving-in of heads by the rifle butts
people of time ?
How do the wasted heroes of animation fiction
anticipate the reckless
plunge into more for less
and less into a beyond
that counts ?