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Apr 2012
Five hundred towers crumble.
thrones parachuted on spinal cords,
falling flat into city streets
occupied by scavengers.
Ten factories close doors,
tracing lines on cement
of pay stubs half burnt:
draft cards for this new war.
One million fathers cried,
unable to love their sons
without enforcing the same brutal tactics
used against them at work.
I may add more to this one.  It's missing pieces.
Written by
Sean Whitney
581
   LDuler
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