these are cysts.
these are cysts. these are peasants. too sick to resist.
just one slice of the throat. one less peasant at risk.
one less slice may suffice, may the peasant earn their worth.
in the darkest fields of chartered yields;
bless our bullets, they’ve dispersed.
(flesh we’ll call it; they’ve a term)
in the hardened fields, their father kneeled.
bless our bullets, they’ve dispersed





















