We aged in the dying fields of dawn
on this peaceful day beneath the venutian twilight.

With skin smothered for mother
we sat and waited,
rocks hiding in the cusps of stiff ironed sleeves
with starch residue stains.

The able-bodied armless choke and spit on the teeth
of their loved ones,
as the passionate puke in their shoes.

Sell us the savory nuances of silence
that now shroud every "aktion" you make.

At last, pain is a play-date when the SS babysit
our beauty with shepards of german descent.

I'd rather you fuck my skull against sharp frozen rocks
than be marched into that oven to die.

12/08/2010