In Shock

In that mouth: gravity hides. Weaves A brand new world. Broken millstone Wrapped round the ankles. Tortures of A sepia vision. Forever there – eyes Glazed and the lullaby of sleep. Radio waves creating distorted spectres On the membrane. She cooks feasts. A Detour through lazy days and nonsensical Drawings. Harps play in funeral pyres, Ashes relaying messaging to those across the sea. Screaming manifestos uttered by the false prophets. Echoes of former time – dusty skin, rabid and raw. Eaten in carved dwellings with parched lips. Falling from rocky deserts, broken hearts Captured in purges. Modern economy. Nameless ghosts tickle this side of reality. No, divinity. Degenerating woman grips with Painted fingers to the ledge that’s close to Breaking. Flesh petals await her in the Abyss. She smiles though, adores. And falls.