Nirvana's Seam

It is the disregard That makes the cup so hard Your mother killed, and every day dying more Your father's absence, in another war Dishonored, undesirable, salt of the slums Bereft of land, and bow, and drums Your children fodder for the courts Less than the visitors of ports Your pain diminished Your murder being finished Your hell the dream The dark lining on nirvana's seam SP