At best Intrinsic rising
Raised, like the bread
That's been fed
By sugar and salt
Braised and branded
Like the flesh of beast
Blood letting, released.
Where do we hunger
In form or in ache
Is it apparent, can you relate
What if the smell is faint
Is decay hidden by perfume
Less rank
Do the men without boots have honour
Or is it the ones In tanks,
which ones on the stretchers
In uniform, or with which rank
Shadows the unborn, fatherless
To come, to break
Where do we know our nature,
In wells, of tears of
Lost steam and focus
Unfinished
