Holes in the Sky

the moon chokes in its cradle. 
the light surrenders the last of its defiance. 

now we are the flesh that's left on their bones. 
after all their graves have been finalized. 

the dead have their voices.
in the corners of our skin. 

long after their faces have been worn away. 
their stones still rattle in our chests. 

confounded by the animal within. 
our words tear at the paper. 

the world is a curious contraption.
that runs on blood and sweat.

its function wholly dependent
upon blind obedience.