To look upon oneself
And find a citadel of half-wrought
Miseries and wounded passions
Where the birds all wore masks
Of hide and gleaming fixtures

Birds that enter upon a pile
Of stiff and tangled limbs
With heads, mouth open
Groaning cries of
Pain, as their teeth are torn
Collected to create nests
In which those enamel buds
Burst into seamless streams
Of bloodied skin

Curving together, crossing to form
A twisted leather medusa
That blooms rusted buckles
Which glisten in the sky above that citadel
In the place of stars for those citizens
To pray between a leviathan chorus of agony.