the dust is blood

wild monkey man

(should have been the lead singer)

your big boots stepping on

the bones of the second wave of man

tune out of time’s tunnel

you’ll hear the eeries

the mother’s wail

the swoosh of the club

then blade then arrow then

cannon and bullet

the quiet village cow

in the pasture outside the

quiet village didn’t see

the black machine death coming

neither did the village lad who

one day in his spunky youth

jumped into the mud up to his hips

boots full and leg wrappings rotted

the screaming bubbling lungs

of 1915 made earth for your feet

and you’ll never know

which hostel bed held his brother

and the wicked dark whore of 1916

in the kitchen of 1872 your

feet touch the corner where the

little girl who looks so much

like ours cowered from the cannonade

before the walls fell and the top hats

came in to have their way

the dust is blood long dried

in the sunshine and feeding

the gorgeous trees with the

love and fear of one hundred thousand

years or more

the roaring of time

the singing of spinning earth

you stand on courageous tears

and faded villainous murder

the dust is blood

wild monkey man

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