Saved By the System In Waco

The real clues are in the cobweb scraps dropped by hapless bronze birds that will never feed again The children are all there in little specks of brittle hopes in black pieces in the dirt Their lives were spilt like milk from the inside out They lie there in pools of sprinkler water collected where it lay Running down heat bleached wet white concrete walls where globes of fire all yellow and red and hissing danced in circles around and around Huddled in terror they did not know it was sent so lovingly to purify and protect from some self-appointed head of grace of the fallen state That hollow blessing melted cosmetics into the prom pictures that would never be taken Now crisp nylon khakis march over remnants of pennyloafers threads and belts over scattered salt strewn like stars Ah, but the young Republicans are happy those tales of children are not about them and theirs The news stories are not about them the fortunate few that are unlimited by some well written blessed law to help only those that are no longer there