Yellow bone amid the gunsmoke- you arise from the pyre of human chaos and blink groggily at the modern world. You arise from your breathing grave- from the boarded-up mouth, from your river of forgotten blood. O, city of orphans, pay your respects in secrecy. Tend to your wounds behind the moon and among the clouds. Ignore the unbroken murderers who sift through the ashes in your hair. Ignore the last-minute looters. Pluck the skulls from your dress and wipe the dust from your teeth. Yellow bone among the stars- a vision, like a saint- pull your memories up by the eye sockets and you shall, with time, be pretty yet.