in his soul
another one.

one that is not so lovely
and not so
his soul.

but one that is unkempt
and joyless as a happy
death.
his motorcade
draining the true yes
from a hard no.
his lungs
gleaming in the rasp
where the tundra
bleeds
but the snow is keen
to undo
the dead drift
of a bleak
bleak.

or a long wrong.
that sleeps.