Cynthia Zhang
Written January 4, 2012
Conspiracy
What is left
in a world of
Wilderness?
Is there
still
Any decoration
of
Kindness,
conscience
Or sanity
Dangling
On a giant dried
tree?
No answers
from
The middle
of nowhere.
No more
inquiries
From paths
Trodden by
Prosperous
trades of slavery:
No souls,
No purposes,
But hunger
for possessions.
Hearts are
better
Eaten raw.
Bodies are
used
By slave
owners.
What is the
destination
Of this long
voyage
Cutting
across the grassland,
Demeaning
the sea,
And adding
one more
Building
block to
A kingdom of
conspiracy?
What is more
sacred
Than a
hovering hawk,
At this
moment of
Manlessness?
The hawk
surges,
Ready to
snap
The last bit
of rotten meat
From a man
to sub-man
Carnival.
