MORNING BIRD

In fright of voices she spilled a torrent of tears
of a frozen sun, like new born babies so,
today a mysterious desert day: we serve the servants
in the end with a body by eyes of excidium sweat
an aroma imparted within effervescent hearts.
Painters, poets and politicians
; gods, demons and angels —
we pull the fish from our nets
and our own spears of terror —
hey my accountant forest green
fans of longing death attracts
divided thirst and i love the
sound of morning birds singing
over my cold grave of stiff
drinking paper signs.

:: 08.24.2020 ::