It will not in the veins shock so
When late my statue gleams a shadow
Upon these weathered sea-side glands
Through rock and the bristling
Of sun-scorched flesh
Though crowded fingers graze
My stony breast erected
It will not in the veins shock so
As snail churches hidden in bedrock
Sun crosses flap like shutters
A hyena in the midst
Cackling his 7 versed madness
All drawn in blues and circles
While bedsheets twist and scream
Sweating mankind from it’s loins
Kicking beneath suffocating tenderness
Freeing the blood into rivers
In the veins lies the the serpent
Strangling the metaphor of man
Hills crushing the light
Of a constant task
Dwindling in the starlight
Butterflies dancing like oxen
But you, sweet youth of genius
A steeple deepen in memories
Dressed in mourning
A ensemble dreary
Howling the lines
But masks have drifted into leaves
To thrown and undone
Though feverish we are in night
Night ghouls we are
Goaded into a false vision
That lays spread vulgarity
But we drink the summer of our youth
As blood wine
Priesting madness that’s strung
Up in thorny bushes
Pricking out so gracious self
To touch our premonitions
With a glad hand
And speak faeries
To a driving stranger
Where we have none
Shadows point out the where
