When Hawk's Go Down Poem by James McLain

Hunger when properly used as a weapon.
Civilians engaged.
Gold and silver left behind uneaten.
The wind the coming of it, it is hidden.
The smell of death and watery diarrhea.
Dignity is significantly lost.
The lower order of all things,
climbing latters to children's sins.
More agreeable making mistakes.
Distended eye's,
parameters of psychological disfigurement.
Raising up each limb is as lead.
Many years behind lay a head.
Shouldering the dead, burdensome burdens.
Where all of the rice looks like sand.
Stacked like cord wood are most of the dead.