A Banquet Table

Performing to a script 
you divide me like a fish. 
From dirt a face rises. 

One flew over the sea 
to count the red islands 
where the rocks hanged the dry skulls. 

Why did you kill the panthers 
by feeding them the toxic menu? 
Sugar was never my cup. 

It was not the question 
of bread and butter: 
we were talking of clean air. 

The ashes will rule now.

Reviews

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Your poem makes me think of this world's harsh side....end is coming close may!