sanity for the privileged,
survival for the ******,

these dregs of innocence
left in crumbling hands,

the waking, the re-waking,
the reckoning sure to come,

the conviction shaking,
bruised fruit whispering

in the shadow of an eclipsed
sun. Bite me here and here

and here, and hear them like
the wind sweeps through

a deserted road, silence all
but new.