"The Ornament of Ugliness"
By Lord Fever

The bricks now lay in a pungent hush,
yet the house bleeds plumes of a tenor hum
The beautiful youth they flutter
with arched wrists marching on
Mornings coiled pulse still sorbent in their hearts
never questioning that beauty is not eternal
and in-existence is kissable
for now the midnight birds generously send the curtains
but the ornament of ugliness now lingers with dearness
in a place where guardian angels brawl like nighthawks
and the moonlight songsmiths no longer serenade cliches
instead bolt-action lovebirds blood-stain keepsakes
peace does not arrive at it's divorce from truth
but may we for a moment
love the flutter of beautiful youth.