You can’t cut silence with light.
It’s not that fast
You’ve seen Death in reflections
It’s where autumn leaves cross-stitch a path

I cannot **** God head on with helmet
It takes glances of a short sword
When words skip steps and seasons stutter
The universe is math blocks slowly toppled with
ROAR

Oh, Christ
Am I death?
Everyone has always looked at me so
Eerily
Perhaps my mother split me with Time
I am Gravity’s cantileve.  
An imaginary house I revisit in
Capillaries crackling with dreams

God will die from art
All of the decanted kerosene