To rest among corpses fits, logically when it’s considered

through a Dickens lens, for we’re all dead anyway

especially now, finding life in the grit

smirking and chuckling like a reflex reaction,

ungirded with intent to punish and judge

worthy those that claimed a place, leaving non grata

bygone brothers and sisters, pitiable portions

of the landscape, we are born again

in a bizarro centerpiece, let the chips fall

for they may crush, and that’s what we want.