It's always been coming,
this over-heat in the system,
burning sea waiting, cracked starving plain
naked mountains racked with slabs of falling Thule,
since we made our first rock a mortar
to pound our brother's skull.
It's a question of numbers,
advice beyond the conquests carefully kept forgotten.
Oil must be drilled to put in the machine
for each sovereign's puppet-show, each flicker of a golden age
subsumed within deep night: our most lively fear
that someone might have more;
and our love, the ink
with which we write these prison sagas,
the color of spilled blood.
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Challenge: Get Listed with grapeling
Michael (grapeling;it could be that) gives us a word list inspired by the great cynical Beatles song, Taxman, but I've wandered a bit. This may be more Eleanor Rigby with Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
Image, top: via internet search, author and title unknown
no copyright infringement intended
Image, bottom: Olduvai Chopper, dated at 1.8 million years
British museum, photo by Archeomoonwalker via wikimedia commons