The Amusement Of Mad Men In Palaces

It is sundown and I haven’t seen the grass in days,

rage ricochets against locked doors and the remains of broken windows.

It just doesn’t stop.

Keeping to the back of the house,

out of sight,

out of my mind,

making breakfast at 10PM for a daughter who cannot keep it down, out of nervousness.

It just doesn’t stop.

War is war,

so they say.

So what?

It just doesn’t stop.

All of us are just the hopes of hounded dreamers,

wounded by the way things were weaved, long before we were born.

It just doesn’t stop.

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