And in my cracked skull there lie
the remains, crushed wings, glitter
made from the lazy bodies of insects
too weak to run
The sun shines from between their segmented legs
They are the ladies waiting to be saved
from the darkness they pretend.
Black shoe, they stick their raw heads in electric ovens
burning off their dignity
asses in the air
the landscape gone to seed
long ago
no reason to tend the gardens
where they grow their worthless worth.
Inside their battered cages, they chant
power and redemption, crawling
headless mindless
soul
less
through the shit.
April Fox 
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