Bucolic Belligerence 

The littered pieces of a dying life 

Clutter up the living space

Begging to be idealized 

Merely crowed the living the 

Habitants  were trying to do.

So a ponderous question pointiantly 

Floated above the room-

What is ownership anyhow 

Until a crash elated the crowd

Before they all remembered who 

They really were before 

Glorified pieces of lightning on sand

Ruled the entire world 

And plastic became a state of living.

Reminding all once again,

That immortality lies

In the bearing of teeth 

Around the ones they love

While throats exalted dramaturgy 

Not status, ideas, or items

Until the home became the infinite stars 

And not some walled prison cell.

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