with all the symphonies drained from the pool
it was high time to embark on a pointless quest
and be good at it. a trickster god hiding a strip of meat
from your impotent beak. you in your white vest
stark where the sun has bleached your horrors
as the new star startles the dark omens of your open pores
and more's the pity... the void has come to it's senses
to forfeit you in a game of pawns
thrashing about in infinite malaise... conjuring misfortune
till the dams burst and the siege begins.
it was high noon when the hollow yawned at your purpose
and your wings scorned the sky,

you miss how the comets laughed,
but can't seem to remember why.