Hunted we speak as cloisters
Hungered in such sweet catacombs
These bludgeoned whispers drip on
Feeding on my hope on a rope
I strangle in feasting stomach
Conning my true angel
To a set of threes
As I stand with upright fists
Beyond youthful angst
That stirs in pools inside
I cannot dream and utter
These so cold fractures
Dwelling in me, culminating
Reaping new innards to spill
Drowning the gifting trees
My therapy is in beds of flames
Upturned toes I have
Crossed in waters of lilies
That I imagined in faerie fucks
Hunted we speak as cloisters
Gum-stained in hallow picture crevices
As I grapple my solemn wishing shell
I see the moonlight
Draping my shipwreck
As I, among birds of night
Pray in molted candlelight
Bent over manuscripts
In a crowded mausoleum
Penetrating the silence
With glasses broken
Fists screaming the maroon
I spread wings in dim light
Modeled as a hungry ghost
Traipsing the windowless corners
Worming my existence in paper tongues
To those who yearn with dreary flowers
All bound in heaven’s humble bread
Dreamt in a blurry season
Yet we are priests of the sun
Numbed in the forgetful day
As we tread with monsters we created
