I'm about to be done

swirling down the drain.

And I'll march

to a Harpy's tune

to better fetch

the limits of my ungrateful

ruin.



Yes.

I am dust driven and water mad

but you are the ghost

with most sad.

The thunder in a snowflake

bleeding the landscape

for a farthing.

A pound for a pound

in an ounce of grief. Now That is the Curse.

The worst word in the ear

of a deaf mute

at the Opera

of your

Sin.