New World Savages

We, the New World Savages,

Crush, Consume, even the dust

left from burned-out tragedies.

The crying children, imagine them,

Blown up and scattered like seeds,

Seeds of death, blossoming

in the fields of wealth, fed

by a stream-of-consciousness-need

for corpulent greed. Oh, but “free”

isn’t free, we’ve chained them,

hobbled, shattered knees.

Only to feed the Machine

that feeds Herd

that eats the Dust

of the Dead


© CGT, 2017.

Talk to me.