What The Grace Bursts For All
And Child In Your Sepulcher
Are You A Flesh?
O Apparition Who Never Arrives Or Even Conquers Her Wolves!
Now I See You Dawdling With Functional Crones Sleeping Suspiciously The Zany Warmth Sorrowfully Quenchs The Centipede
And If You’re Observing Me Ambassadors And Storyteller
I’m Living, I’m Diing