looked up to see why they darkened the sky. Vultures blackened
the heights to the sound of the shot,
respond to the first gush of blood from the wounded.
After riding the skies with a slow cadence
the first alighted on the branches of distant trees,
The following are perched on branches closest
lost recklessness, as we turned our backs
pounced on the fresh meat on the bloody viscera. At Mount
their work is commendable, clear the land
only come to dead or rotten.
I looked in front of relatives, their faces dark
circulated with great haste home,
morbid questions, defensive response:
"Depart, man is not dead, it stinks."
still not time to clean his pocket . Precipitation
the apparent madness,
Man dies, man sucks
Greed kills the subsidiary sanity. .
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