let the gawkers
make haste
may thier
make
it
frozen clay

showers
of
frost

clung teardrops

my depths deaths
shall they swallow
birds admiration
aspirations
on
man

that an bird would ask it's wings
why it it you choose
to feather me
tickle me
from
the
sky



ask let why
that my flesh be
peeled
from
the
back


of
mine
eyes
say not
let the gawkers
?











...
..
.