Stop, please stop that thud, that thud, I hear your thirst like sand for blood-- O I will bring you water, water, only beat your breast no longer! Because I see your prayer becoming consumptive by its own drumming, a labyrinth that bears no unthreading. God, I saw a black bruise spreading deep within that dreadful cadence-- and his prayer was patience, patience. “Tell me, please, what I can do to break you from that death tattoo,” but all he did was beat and nod I lost him to an Awful God.
A few months old. But I'm back-posting to make up for lost time.