There are reasons
Registers click
And cock like guns
As drawers open

To remind all those
Left behind them
That bullets are green
When exchanged

With dead men’s grins
On their back
But our legacy sold
Under flagpoles

Of paper-thin gods
Only crucified
By those who fail
Earning more –

Forced ambition
Numbered by lies
Counting empty hands
Growing desperate

Through sterilized dreams
Still legitimate
Since everyone born
Must abide,

Choosing jobs
Since picking a side
Means losing faith
Always screaming

Calling angels gone
Seeking respite
Heaven’s shallow grace
Doesn’t share

While gathering wounds
If we work
Toward beautiful holes
Faking shelter

Though flowers above
Pillowed caskets
Make murder then seem
Such reward

For free enterprise
Saying goodbye
Yet buying up space
So exclusive

Now real estate held
After breathing
Spent wasting this life
In pursuit.

• J. Pigno