Short Supply

the promises are prosthetic
attached to us but useless
with new clones sliding over the old
replacing the losses
only to be the next
in sand and mortar everything's a mystery
and the smoke hides the stars
from the exploded supply truck
shrapnel between the eyes
but still to crawl and bleed
in a dizzy panic where all that's definite is horizon
and years will pass with conquest and confusion
as one by one
you answer for your scars