American puppets
Hanging from walls like flies in a sty
Chest out, hands on hips, fingers eyes screaming ******
painted faces and naked guns  
horns and hats on heads
wrapped in white
scaling walls like drowning spiders
Like the children you tuck into desert graves or return to murky waters  
Running at red
flag or flower
Petulant like infants
scuttling on all fours like roaches
do you follow rot or does it follow you
in either case you made a nest
good luck hiding once the stones are turned
and the sun melts your costumes
and hard crunchy shells
to show an empty and ***** carcass
fly your flags
the wind won’t hold them like its 1861.