Microscopic handling of words
The craft of turning nuclear bombs
into wounded birds
It took thirty generations to stop
the growing bulbous tumor
the second heavy head that dragged them to hell
Personal Lucifer
Jesus of Nazareth
Nails deep in hands and feet
Why have you forsaken me?

There was no warning.
Only the waves of skin melting radiation
Hairy wax.
My spine collapsed into dust.

Thirty kilometers has the bird walked
and it can finally kind of sing
(Chop Suey! of course)
after 30 generations of shrieks
in front of the closed capitol
And it is finally told
after 30 generations of songs
“We could have extinguished your kind.”
and nothing more.

Feathery wax.