Screaming , "What?"
. . . does no good .

Turn your hands inside out . . . you , the magician
tricked me out .

A childhood playground
(swinging up and over the the bar) . . . a distance too far to accomplish . . . come toppling down bar to  ground . . .

So I lofted my dreams higher than possible , improvable saith the powers that be .

I turn over in my grave before I've been buried or depositioned

Yes I've sinned over and over and made my Jerusalem look like Heaven

Let no stone remain on top of another

Let no word
persuade another
unless it be
the truth

I leave the words
to be the pale wind combing through the limbs of bare trees lichened in hopeless desparation

. . . consummatum est .