THE SUBCONCIOUS OF THE PARCHMENT.-

I

DREW YOUR FACE, WITH WONDERED STROKES.

AFTER GLANCJNG THE STEP, LEFT IT BY THE SUBCONCIOUS OF THE SOUL.

PASSED AS WINDLESS STORM, AFTER HUNDRED YEARS OF CALM.

DREW YOUR LEFTY INNER, OF DEBRIS TRACED.

II

IT CAME LATE, WITH A GRIMACE FORGED, DROOL…DEAF AND SILENT.

MILDLY TOUCHED THE QUEEN, GUARDED IN HER BEHIVE, AWAKENING THE HORDE.

ENLISTING ARMIES WITH WINGS.

SUPPLIERS OF POISONS AND DEATH.

THOUSAND RACES…THOUSAND CREEDS…THOUSAND LIVES…INERTS

III

IN PENTECOST WALKED,

GLANCING THE CROSSES BURRIED IN THE ROAD.

THE SKILLED…THE NOT MUCH,

AN INJURIED WHALE…THE MEN AND THEIR NAMES.

 WOUNDED OF PAIN, EYED THE SKY…AND TUMBLED OF BRUCES.

IV

ALL WERE A SHADOW.  AN EARTH CAPPED BY CLOUDS,

SORROUNDED BY GASSES AND DEFEATS.

WAS LEFT AN EYELASH WAKE.

HANGED TO AN EYELID DEAD.

TO A NEW WORLD… REVIVED THE QUEEN FROM DEATH.

BAREFOOT…WITHOUT BOOTS OR FAITH