Bite (Wake not Woke)

Upon the rind of the

stalking banks

will swoop

the swollen bulk

from siphoning paws

that turned spirits

to gaup at the last

of their golden ancestry

bitten not by vulture rivals

but by the savagery

of numbers that will be the generations prey

circling towering predators

relays without choice

with all knowledgeable

education flushed into a sinkhole

begins what became

of those who can't restore or resist

when the flight of the hidden migrant

will pound for the flesh of promises of vaults and jewels

yet leave with fliers stamped under brogues feet

into pulp and smeer to those

who seek shelter from downtrodden street

soon owned and repossessed

in someones fleet