Feathers
wasted
on foul
lead
The maker
demands
totality
They walk to servitude
banner in hand
absence a recognition
the new thing
the nothing of today
A woman living now
faking as mother
all spent
chasing
chasing
the other
Walls fall
basement filled
in a memory
of guilt
complete
Your brow flickers
lashes of lashes
a hole so empty
to be called an eye
the bride of death
worming to the surface