They sell us our pictures
before squintprism teared eyes,
our demise, bought slowly,
weak defeated swipes.
Picked pure bones clicking,
chattering child chosen,
to poke brutal brave on screen.

We pay as we pay,
played out in piqued pantomime.
A story mine, the dream time
told and sold for scraps
to line walls, a war
unveiling in empty spaces
for everything between.

Wisps, phantom phrases,
barbed whispers on breeze,
anger streaked moths
to impossible odds,
a drummed wing symphony
in terrified time,
beating as beaten bleeds still.