lay down your rifle
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Your labor is rented until extinguished by exhaustion, as your beauty and booty are hypothecated until spoilt. Your connections, contacts and ideals rot on the vine. Material possessions, property and treasure deflate away.
We are all Indians now. Hide in the hills and keep on the constant move. Sleep on the ground without a fire or tarp your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased. You have no allies and your enemies have forgotten you.
The ambulance crew patiently circles like vultures waiting for you to drop. Lay down your rifle Native American, hide in the Hills and sleep on sloped snow covered ground; your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased.
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