The Lost Boys

A nation celebrates the mourning it’s pressures and vacuums with khaki uniformity

tempering the horizon, 

where no man is evident

beyond

a cellular perception exemplifying teamwork as the authority best qualified to evolve into culture.

And for those who don’t live the war

enjoy the dark rage of Easter’s ceremony, of the lost boys, the taciturn warrior made waste by cylinders and detonations punctured by blood soaked beer commercials prescribed by the sand of rogue suspicion,

aside the queue duly maintain an affirmation of privilege outside the legitimised subject of whim and wish to qualify

the surviving peoples indigenous to memory

daily their country honours an emblem, the regent out there beyond the twilight stars sewn into the statistics nationalising the truth of co ordination

the signal counts as democracy

the celebration of higher selection, who it chooses or denies in the academic predilections of religion