Death Speaks to the Remainders
They are instead
Living people in the war memorial.
So high above they would die
If they fell in the moat.
They get sprayed with gold
And dropped in by helicopter
And asked to be as silent
As the dead.
We are the remainders
of their sacrifice
And make sure they have
Friends to talk
to about with
The days before
Everything died.
We have invented darkness
Which is pasted over
Their fading memorial eyes.
We peel off our fingers
Taxes and speeches
And digging under the lid,
with a dull-edged coin,
We clean the sleep out
Of their eyes. Spots
Move in the void of their
White blood.
The spots return to darkness
in some predictable
algorithm, validating
the process.
We have trademarked
Grief, and made a drug of
Famine. We are a God
With cold lips and in our War
Everything dies.
Mark Brunke
Posted over on Poets Against The War
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