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By Katherine Johnson

Gossamer lives,
All ground beef,
To the slaughter,
Slaughter.

Jammed together,
The tongues of nations,
Serve in starched logos,
Slaughter.

Desperate men,
Join in small cliques,
Dead wives linger outside,
Slaughter.

Crematorium scents,
Greasy odors exhausted hang,
Work will set you free,
Slaughter.

To the slaughter,
Slaughter.

Copyright 2016 – Katherine Johnson – All Rights Reserved

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