all these lowly beasts
of your flowered heart
drag you off
into and through
those fields on fire

you’ve cut the heads off
your tin foil gods
cut their hearts out too

you are lost and you have lost
Acheron boils over and
your hand looks almost real
in the glint of a traced arc

you shudder in the sudden rain
you are out of time
without time
the willows have begun to weep

this excrescence suffocates all hope
your heart starts to bleed
in this wretched light

try not to
yowl into the sleepless
sundered night
with these visions
of annihilation and other
things such as this way come