Grace touches the rarest of things
Whence perfection appears
fragile
exposed to chance
caressing the darkness
Again walker ever into sleep
the remnants of a past
drag heavy
ploughing the burial grounds
of the imagined
words
prey
Worshipers of stone
anoint the fallen one
embellished in silver
bloated and hidden
beneath seven increments of succulence
plagiarised and detached
A township on its knees
kissing, touching the formless
surrogates of Eve
receive Issac in tempest
spared as the last winds die
violent blunder no more
This is the now
where we exist
a virus hurtling
in a chemical cage
wrapped in a mind
lowered into flame