serve your bullet on the platters
along with the silver spoons and
doomed matters. we don't deserve other
than the dust of our creation.

that's what we are, we beget
ourselves and are not patient
we are our creation,
we are not the scrolls in our town
halls but the clay molded by our hands
and the soccer *****. out in the street,
not stopping other than by abrupt
stamping of your cleat.

the cost of cost may be a
long lost generation, when you spew nukes in a foreign invasion-
we bare our friends corpses and
drag them through the nation,
it’s true the wrong place for
skeletons is the basement.