The spill of sheen after deep throat explosion. Not as special as the day appeared. Afraid of complete annihilation? Was it possible? Untenable? Living in a cavern full of bats? A key slept in a lock unmoving the golden doors.
Standing on a beam, shrine: holding a black dawn, my phoenix roving on dark river. The bell still clangs; I hear the footsteps. A weird thought spreads out on peripherals, makes holes, the undone communiqué of a war between knuckles;
a savage desire to severe off one’s neck, the song will get a name in troubled mind, to remove the stain on tongue of black spider, you will think again to commit your sleep for that beautiful death: guess what