I’ve been crying
In the most beautiful places
Pregnant teardrops
Straight out my cold
Wicked heart.

If I could even begin
To explain to you
How my sleeping soul
Awakens at the deep threes
Of winter frosted mornings
Before the stirring
Of the spotted cuckoos
And the formation
Of sweet pre-mountain dew
And yells well worn
Verses of prayer
Into the warm abyss
The w a r m
A b y s s
I’d feel exactly twenty point
Six three nine percent better.