There Are Never Enough Soldiers

Never enough. The mud clogs, the mad dogs, the fogs of war. Not enough soldiering marching. They cannot now fill the great mirror, the sky-high mirror - all the reflected disaffected and their alter-images, not enough to fill the volcanic eruptions of the public mind. I saw the soldiers go into the mirror I saw victims and victors come out, they were not returning they were burning the fields. The fields where the dead were already up and walking back to fill more boot camps for there are never enough feet to pound the ground. Just a few good arms left, a few good foes following the endless charge. So few to fill in the holes, the holes in the ground where all the flags were raised and that the wind tore down.