All alone in your root bound home,
bones buried among flowers and fragmentation,
tank track graves,
little spades full of holes,
it's all burning now,
oily black tar belching in columns,
weeds growing through ribs in the trenches,
lunchtime in the landmine field,
eyes peeled back puffing smoke,
a sea of palm oil trees,
a sea of plastic,
a sea of people screaming towards destination death,
peddle to the floor,
on collision course with war,
sorrow,
loss,
tomorrow,
all these little procedures followed,
doing our chicken dance for grain,
rooster ran over by the 711 gas pumps,
still kicking one leg,
bite the tongue that feeds you lies,
tilt your head skyward,
pop all those bones in your hands,
neck,
light that cigarette,
we'll  pay for this all one day