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.