Nothing in nature sleeps alone.
No creature is afraid of its home.
They spread black streets across the prairie
Cutting the grass into identical squares.
They set so many black wheels in motion
With so many white lights ahead of them.
They spread white sheets across their beds
And built white walls around their bodies.
They laid down everything on one single bet.
They raised the stakes until they reached the moon.
What kind of animals are they that hide
In houses that shut out their wounded world?
If all these houses burned to the ground
Would prairie grass grow from the ashes?
Would there be peaceful prairie people then
With proud horses and round houses?
Houses with doors, no locks, no rooms,
Just a circle around a fire, around a family.
Or would it be only burnt bones and bricks
Spread out on a grid of back and white
Like some sinister game board, showing Who won the bet they made with death.
They should have known.
Nothing in nature sleeps alone.
No animal is afraid of it’s home.
No animals, they have proven to be.
Monsters, monsters, are these.
The last monsters there will ever be.