THIS galaxy splintered into domestic
artifacts, theres a absence here, and
a ominous argument that ends with a
hand shake, yes both sides agree to
disagree,
but the repetition digs and digs,
untill it hits the right spot,
THIS galaxy cloaked into a haunted
silence, i smell the gunfire, and dead
peaple, and bombs that kill everything
but cockroaches, some times i sit
and cry, , then ask god, was this part
of your plan, or should i turn off this
tv, but the repetition digs and digs,
untill it hits the right spot, , ,

DAVID GERARDINO

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/domestic-artifacts/