Those metal carcasses, literal
car cases, stacked in towers
of nine upon dusty ground, sand
and shale and stone gather in
pools underneath weary rubber soles,
collecting web and melancholy.

Waiting to be picked apart,
the vultures much kinder in their
assault than the jackals, who bare
teeth with glee and tear fabric
and metal from frame, cold and
methodical their surgery.

Parts for the part god, they
whisper, till only bones remain,
these towers of steel glint and
blind, sun bouncing from polished
metal into satiated eye, the
next target three steps over.