Stillborn

Stillborn

Stillborn

In memory

The streets of gold began to crumble

beneath the feet of would be mothers

on their backs they carry dolls

sporting masks of former lovers

of the gods and demigods

they gather with them all

open up their peasants robes

and to the street

they let them fall

And there in crumbled golden streets

All the would be mothers weep

Their sex is lying at their feet

Their wombs just sacrificial meat

and they inhale...

all together their last breath
all together say their prayer
and all together they will sleep
and die down in a childless dream