Picture his blood
Raw as it incubates to rust
Like the delicate knife when drunk with lust
If only your shadow whispered
Like the sweat of your skin
And felt as though there were a place
For this dream to swim
Time less a friend
And has wintered your lazy road
Death a sordid void not behind
But so bitter above
And you my frantic goddess
Worshipping the spring of some elaborate life
One day to moan under a flood of power
In the midst of their enormous lie
Chained staring repulsively to the vision
You must trudge for eternity asking why
Smell, scream, tongue, and finger
Smear drool as you fall beneath
What it is you’re after
Ache and recall a 1,000 moments
That could have somehow reigned true
Urge them to think, shine, or love
But most of all, see through
ⓒ 2004 Shawn Michael Quinn
