assemblies of terminal men stampede

across all bound geography

with such whimsically brutal cruelty and force

trampling and crapping on endlessly

throughout the land, madly floundering around

their meager boundaries held together

by so much piss and artillery;

each one tethered to some grand bellwether,

feeding heavy at the hell-sprung trough of

enmity, greed, and rendered pleas.

alas, this transient rampage of brute punchinellos,

of gluttons of plunder, parading about

with a belching pandemonium of lumbering grunts

does not distract the indefatigable fact, oh men,

of graves beckoning your names

where it is deep and cold and implacably quiet

save the catastrophe of insects and worms

redeeming this earth of your gargantuan refuse

with your pleadingly delicate (but oh so fertile) screams.