A Cold, Stone Edifice

A cold, stone edifice lurks at the edge
of daybreak. Soldiers’ boots crawl
across blood soaked streets in hazy
half-light. Bats screech through un-peopled
underpasses in the between-world – killers
above corpses below. The mostly asleep
undead dreamwalk through turnstiles,
depositing their productive years
into token slots as they pull the gas pump
triggers of Uzis and smart bombs.
Wealth’s stranglehold grips newborn
fantasies by the jugular, applying pressure
while insatiable appetites ooze a putrid,
envious and lusty stench. A blind moment –
no one’s eyes read the inscription, so a cold,
stone edifice shrugs deliriously, mutely aware
that technological advances erect no signposts
indicating lethal lessons latently linger learned.