my mouth waters like a dream. god isn’t thrilled. calls me trespasser- says, cálmate, trespasser. you must keep quiet here. do not weep. or, if you must weep, do so only with the promised tongue. keep shy near the neon pools. summon from the depths no eyeless horror. and i know god means the newt. orange of pain and spotted of soul. the newt i will love until the end of days. until fire falls from the sky. until i am found, delirious, promised tongue licking heat from its skin. god says not again, trespasser. sew shut your mouth. pluck blind your eyes. i can only give you so many deaths, and i am tired.