NO MATTER

It doesn’t matter

Where we are

We will feel death

Be dead

Bunkered or trenched

Probably droned these days

We will be licked like the whimpering bitches of an history

That always professes to care for us

Born but to some ongoing bloody circus

As well as a nightingale’s song

Maybe abed we will go

Hospital bedded

Wearing striped pyjamas

Silk pajamas

Or none

Queueing for bread

On a line for corn

Anticipating rice

Craving gruel

Shaving gold

It doesn’t matter

How we go

We could die as communists or capitalists

And never know the difference

It won’t matter

And we will not be

We will whimper like licked bitches of history

Born bloody

Pinned and spun
All of us undone
Unless no unless