sour tongues spit out decrees to
the other leather sun bound  
twisted skins who try to reminisce
of the days of words, written and spoken
from a non-uniform refuge of thinkers.
heel-less sneakers won't keep them
from the last skirmish
even if the fireworks are skimpy
and with only one brother left
they'll still carry the ****** Mary
in the helmet they might wear for the last time