Five hundred towers crumble.
thrones parachuted on spinal cords,
falling flat into city streets
occupied by scavengers.
Ten factories close doors,
tracing lines on cement
of pay stubs half burnt:
draft cards for this new war.
One million fathers cried,
unable to love their sons
without enforcing the same brutal tactics
used against them at work.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Five hundred towers crumble.
thrones parachuted on spinal cords,
falling flat into city streets
occupied by scavengers.
Ten factories close doors,
tracing lines on cement
of pay stubs half burnt:
draft cards for this new war.
One million fathers cried,
unable to love their sons
without enforcing the same brutal tactics
used against them at work.
I may add more to this one. It's missing pieces.