cadavers cannot march

the disengagement of computer screens
the hot affair with mud and rain and blood
the mobilization of camoumen that shoot turbinedmen

terrored freedom
freedomed terror

the lost fetishism of the reconsider
the cock brazen fucking of otherings
the idea of the colour red
that so shrugs off a death count--
big thousand numberings of men
and billionings of dollars--
as sacrifice to the artifice
that puts minds to ease yet

are these walls truly walls
or the end of our periphery
resultant of lock necked gazing
to pretty things that satisfy
our wombed kingdom

our tombs would rather have us asleep
and in a cradle rather than strangle us forthright--
cadavers cannot march.