Sleeping in the cold frost
While the moon low craves gloss
As the dying wastelands dry in bone to rust
Like so many empty beginnings
You taste the crushed cars of crumbling codas
You know the pallid drinks in the cruellest of comas
You know the gore from the flesh of the earth
How all things become devoured by others
So how much more can we rape of her
While the city sits and waits for the rats
To slit & slither down, like rotten apples?
I’ll cut my throat while her children drown
As the worms crawl from inside, and out
I’ll cry,
I’ll murder my own for her delicate wings;
Yes, I will,
As Judas in Gethsemane
Just to feel her breathing, her eternal grace
So many ways how we all could face lust, just to
Touch her.
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