a lone voice crying in the wilderness:
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make the straight way for the coming of the?
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a dry throat stutters on an empty vision
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of milk and honey and desolate quiet.
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a dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song
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to ruin what it left behind.
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a bare sole longing for the feel of concrete,
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and a lone voice crying in the wilderness.
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i have these dreams when i’m feeling sick of unfinished patterns
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that i can’t collate at all,
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of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures,
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of an exhalation, of the himavant, of a pulse
|
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-----------------
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A Song To Ruin
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| Million Dead |
