There was a pine box revolution from all of this madness,
they were selling out faster than the rifles,
faster than they could be filled,
maybe we smelled death,
is that not what we do when we wish it would go away,
when we tell it our number is not up,
maybe we were not ready for any of this,
maybe you should give us back our month,
maybe it did not belong to you,
none of this belonged to you,
this was an assault of the highest order,
on the youngest few,
we lined them up the way we lined up bodies at night coming home from the east,
and from the middle,
but it was dark then,
just as it is now,
and these boxes were ripe for the ground,
but for the plot of a different size,
for a plot of a different kind
and maybe it was time to undo my unrest
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