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Sunrise no berries

Sunset no oranges

The old forests, heavy with silence

Their buds forgot you went home

Speaking hush

Flaunting wit to fend

Letters cannot refute on their own

But organize by attrition

Denial to awe and article

Born white of the world’s blood

Perpetuating dosing, dripping

Fretting sweat begged no less

But a chewy hum

That spills and sings

Give me tragedy as an excuse to fall

Only take what’s bound for destruction

I’ll eat the scrolls

Of labor anguished

And empty our vessels to sea

Wrought with cracks anyway

Make believe bends from breaks

How likely is it that virgins inspire rage

In bricks, the seems

The teaming of lost wings

Clay molded to rings

Stuck with wrought and friction

Vows still atone in the festival of trees

The heavens quaked in decision