AGAINST the cymbals of echoing blasts
became the embryo born-splat.

The squeals were louder than priests
calling for money upon silver plates
clanging with the clank and claps ensued
STD is the mother of lost souls craving
crunching love.

Yeah. Well.

WHEN i was sleeping but dead-living bangs
ding swish and swooshing rafters of whiffing whizz.
how the heart can ache after it is dead.

fwoosh.

Buzz and barking angry flies. went the mumbling brook;
warble song above a tree branch near the echo moan of yesterday.
where i lay.

Now. All alone.

:: 10.07.2021 ::