A distant poem
A crystal eye
A wafer skin
A pit of mud
These are my assets
Steep cruises
In the bulky head
Of aging signals
But green sketches
And a greyed out sea
Perhaps the only one
Ravaged by them
My little sky
My odd out arms
They are for shops
And plenty of freebies
Contours in those lenses
Are all lies
And I failed to know
That diversions are always
Diversions alone
Never mind the skull
As pain can never eat it
But can only shape it better
Dressing it for future graves
And intimate harvests
Spotted am I
In a slit of light
That never did exist
And never will either
Chained are we
In a hope of harvest
That could never complete
The horrors of past
Truth only survives
When hands fail
The lies of heart
And thus the barren land
Promises a harvest of lies
