In this bungalow bathed with mud and leaves Moss seeps through fissures in the walls Sprawling vinery rips through paint beneath. As my headdress rusts on the window sill I glance to hush its last scorning glares Hidden in this hammock, outlining my fears. This sunken land fails evermore How steady the brick counts its last dusk How many more days to tend to them? Old tapestry hanging above untucks, Undone by the collapsing roof. Leave me here a bloodied man, squashed by rock. Limping, gushing, dripping in my demise.