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.

.

.