Mammalian Junkyards

human wreckage,

lying strewn about like

old, lost parts,

buried within this

mammalian junkyard;

who could know,

who would care;

waiting for a small glimpse

of light,

at the end of this

proverbial tunnel,

they come by the thousands,

the millions,

for just a touch,

a look,

from their multi-colored

gods,

a souvenir,

to drag back into the pits

of this life called home;

a chance to feel,

a chance to forget;

before the wrecking ball

smashes them

into pieces.

.

.