Like the clock works
like clock work.

Comes around to the time

when Mars arises from His bed
and leaves behind
His last wars dead

and the sergeant grunts
from his canvas cot
and shoves his squad

to the killing time,
the killing season

when young ones die
and old men cry
and mothers wretch
to an empty sky.

Then comes around

to the skeleton time,
the skeleton season

when white bones bleach
on a burned black beach
and none can recall the reason.

Then comes around

to the dead time,
the dead season

when a remnant gasps
at what’s been done
while, hollow eyed,
waits for what will come

like the clock works
like clock work,

when Mars arises
from His bed
and leaves behind
His last wars dead…..