The giant lies on its side.
Blood spirals into
electric rivers
in a breathing box.
New souls are born on
the plastic prairie
now engulfed by fate,
their feet soldered to chains,
their voice turned into sand.
Were not for a paradoxical thought,
the giant would not have fallen
into silence.
Children watch for a hundred years of decay
waiting to live.
- 2/25/2018 in Boca
