A wild sun refuses to set
ribbons rotate on the circumference
with thousands of eyes looking on
jagged tendrils boil this meager surface world
hear the screams, hear the cries
those who talk to angels

Sanctuary in the shade
safety in a secret
whisper a kiss to a bouquet
upon a headstone where it lay
beneath a sacred poem-prayer
meditating on granite in the still air
lay to rest the ghost-fire of resentment there
burn this incense, French inhale
cloven foot scraping grave-dirt, spitting smoke
bull-headed minotaur, lungs full of white sage choke

The wilderness is a spirited if pilfered place
lashed by this wicked star, ash falls from grace
prophetic tongues whirl in circles, speaking as if omniscient
beware, beware, dreamers cozy in the night
who climb the cosmic-skinned mountain of subconscious
the stone cairn-haunts of fireflies that light the way to the top
beware the abysmal black of Tartarus, that is far below the bellows
colder and darker than the wilderness, where not a nightmare dares to tread or trot;
nor has a dream been seen, beware

A void unseeable chews on innocent, sane, rational and reasonable minds
the seven pointed star, with oily, invisible corruption
that lays sweet words in stone with silence
how it moves across the air, an inverse to the wild sun
beware, there are no dreams, no rest,
there are no nightmares; beware.