far too loud

it’s the right time for something
but the wind blows
blundering westerly
thundering buster

dying on the vine
suffocate me
Mary Mother and
fucking Joseph

living proof of stars
knotted cocks
and clamped hands
wrench my chest

anxious foreboding
shutup shut up
you think therefore
i am, i am not

gangs in my night
circle my here
surround my walls
haunt my skin

the wanderer listens
waiting in blue
for a moment
to arm’s chance

the mountain call
beckons to breathe
taunts to heal all
that’s missing in me

sweat of dream stark
bolt and shiver
twitching fingers
again, I return to state

sing me a lullaby
wont you?

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