mask the thought of it
the resounding yawp of despair
in which it carried thick
humbly suppose utter delusion
as i searched in endless voids
finding dirt in my handbags
toting soulless connections
wise in the blood of mountains
holy christ's to only crow
at the rise of glossy night
stick in a moment so hopeless
the pain a reaping hold
but alas great men meet
even greater, but songbirds end
as the lights flicker aim
and i close my eyes, wet
to awake in new clothes
stitched from my marrow
weep once
to a noise so ghast
it slows the catch to you