Evil-inscrutable, dawn caught between
Ashen claw and naked sear, abstract
Dreams traced in acacia dust along
A forlorn God’s chest.
Running wild like the hair of a man
Eons at rest, you dress your
Speaking wound in luscious petals, so
That your festering tongue is heralded by heavenly songs.
Evil, has ever a man or woman dreaming
Felt your lips? In a reverie descended an
Intangible deepness, you are hidden.
In a blackened sea you are sacrificial blood.
There is no vision so great which cannot be removed by a wind
All-knowing.
Clamor 