The age of dichotomy

Warcheifs thrum their fingers, rhythmically vibrating atomically waves -skin against oak

sing

as if to enlighten brainstorming sessions on discussions on who to bomb next

 -darum-tap-darum-tap
Which mother will spill saline, spittle, snot and blood in screams for her calcium covered babes spattered in red over ghostlike grey concrete clouds

-darum – tap – darum – tap

Blonde assassins sigh unable to comprehend instructions from a master puppeteer

jump and jerk to taste of ashes in their mouths; 

scratching their scalp like lackwhits

-darum – tap – darum – tap

Under neon strip lights a babe cried her last

lost, alone, pink and perfect, her small fingers grasp with her final breath
-darum – tap – darum – tap
They look on, and judge on their egotistical thrones, small smiles on their wormy lips as their pockets fill with the profits of pain.

-darum – tap – darum – tap

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