Lost inside
the haemorrhage of the world
who carries bright bones
lynched on the boughs?
Like mansions of a toothless town
No prayer succeeds the sound
her cruciform lips and her silvery mouth . . .
where life lies dumbstruck
and all the patchwork shame
walk and hang in your grave
suckling it burns in the bible-black waste
and all the patchwork shame
walk and hang in your grave
Our drowned horses dance
with a daughter of the fog
who scratches at masks for all of the answers
where life lies dumbstruck
and all the patchwork shame
walk and hang in your grave
suckling it burns in the bible-black waste
and all the patchwork shame
walk and hang in your grave
and all the patchwork shame
walk and hang . . . in your grave
Our drowned horses dance
with a daughter of the fog
who scratches at masks
for all of the answers
her cruciform lips and her silvery mouth . . .
"Then silence, stillness and night was the universe . . . "
Then night was my universe . . . .
night was my universe
night was my universe
Lost inside
the haemorrhage of the world
Lost inside
the haemorrhage of the world . . .
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