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I see a skeletal mother
holding up a living child.
Trying vainly just to feed it
with what little she has left.
Its father was a carpenter,
his frame built wide and strong,
now he’s set into the furniture.
Forever lost to them.
I see a burning building
decked with bright ceramic tiles.
Set with tombstones and the bones
of generations past their prime.
Upon it all is written,
like some vast cacophony:
“The laws, the schools, the government,
the business and theology,
the arts and crafts and sciences,
we made them all for you.”
I see a sky of violence
raining vitriol like blood.
As the clouds refuse to part
to see the absence of the sun.
The planets’ lonely pattern
dawns unnoticed once again.
Soon empty of the accidents
who named it right or wrong.
And the last surviving witness,
cuddled up against a ribcage,
enacts its parents’ ancestry
and weeps. |
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