These Furies that laugh in their sleep are the last to be reached in a chasm. To repel from oblivion's lip and Have at 'em As atoms have Nothing to cling too And That Matters.
These Furies that die in their sleep Are polite to at least keep the last spasm - Hapless as a Trivial list Of Mad Pattern... Though that Lantern Has Nothing to shine through - And light scatters.
These wounds that laugh at sleep They weep in a Keep Where the Night gathers. Shelves of elaborate Script Of a Myth of " Had Happened "
These eyes that dine on Sleep They reap the breach Discretely Haggard... The last gasp of Ice Nip A tad Sadder...And That Saturn has Ice Lanterns More dark gladly As Had Phantoms.