Flight of the Pellets
Tiny, like little eggs
In a slide of the bolt
Thrown into waking
In the metal womb, flying
Down the steel birth canal.
No nourishment for them, just the shove and flame and stench
Of burning gases.
First flight, last flight, headed to their death
In another's death.
Enter the berth of a heart, smash through, and destroy.
Down below, in the field of dead shriveled stalks
A tiny drop of steel rain falls to the ground.
It hits, digging its own grave
A di in the earth.