futures

When things as insignificant as dreams are crushed we can run wild with their broken pieces,
screaming
muffled
screams
out of glass eyed gas masks. Our black rubber faces burning with old sweat and new tears.
The red mourning descends and tears the fresh dew hotly off of its grassy pinnacle, wet triumph crushed under boot heels.
Its thirst unquenchable, dying to satiate its nuclear hunger.
It knows no rest.
Scouring summer meadows and arctic plain, it sees you weeping.
Drying your tears to your salty cheeks.
Clutching the pieces of your
shattered
dreams
to your breast
Drawing blood on your palms and fury on cold canvas hearts.