The circuitry was programmed to say that the combat boots are worn down and brave. But the one whose feet will fit right inside plays the mitten on another's hand. And the mitten to the boot could tell: "We are so pedestrian." So we throw the stone to counter what's sewn. We won't breathe and we won't sing. We won't say those things we mean. Pedestrian will come out and say that the sick will start to die off in herds. Scholastic statues of the unheard. Empty banners for lost words. And the banner to the sick will show that our stitches sew tomorrow. So we throw the stone to counter what's sewn. We won't breathe and we won't sing. We won't say those things we mean. The cages we lie in could turn into graves. We bury ourselves as the sick with the words that we erase.
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