Immune

Dead trees lie immune
they do not reflect their losses or
gather gossiping crows

We have to make room

shiny barrels of guns
point right at our chests
and last night stars were falling
like cannons in war

In one year I will not care less

but right now I am in the woods
burying the stiff body of a cat
and I can tell...it died horribly slow
I dig the hole singing
baby I know how it feels

Reviews

[The Iron Horseman]

Terribly sad! The pain and disillusion crawls off the page. Well done.