a species who spend half of their lives
lying in the dark competing with each other,
to see who can silently imitate their deaths.
Yet, when they have mastered this art
they are tested in the purest buildings
to see how many blips are left in a
machine connected to their soul.
The victor receives a glorious ceremony,
where it rains (without clouds) on the faces of the herd.
The human "resting" is then either, stored away
in the basement, gravely marked for later use,
or digested by grabbing orange spear-heads
until they are baked in a ceramic pot filled to the
brim with colourless sand and taken to
a cliff, trig point or mantle piece
to be disposed of, as the herd huddles
together against the wind and the weather
Tom Peel
Feedback appreciated
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