What is it that these wounds can tell?
What words, what songs
emerge from blood and bone?
We come together or we come alone
to raise dull pennants on gray evenings,
buzzing lips and suttering eyes,
abstracted in the afterglow.
Some other significance is wanting,
and we move with purpose
through ravenous gloom.
What is it that these wounds can tell?
Something untranslatable.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 