What will be the worth of man?
The crows, the worms, the maggots, the scavengers who will punish our bodies
Redeeming us, bringing us back to our Mother?
The hand drawings by our final artists of our final events on the walls of suburbia made out of blood, fecal matter, anything at hand?
The broken glass, plastic, metal, silicone laying among the tall grass that will hinder grazing animals?
What will be the worth of man
When none are left to carry the fire