i have no words for emptiness
i'm a bulwark of clots and knots

death is a *****
in a party mask
her seduction a cruel bite
we have always lived for

nakedness on a pyre
makes the man

the bodyless are toasting at a college breakfast party
in the netherworld
of new birthed astral lights
the dead living
somersaulting like fantasmal flux

while we the living dead
gimp through labyrinths time-space
marking spired hands of a clock
that *****  
like a black glove
 towards endless white-knuckle struggles
no matter our destiny
in a dream of forms
like run on *****

a truth only the dead know