With calloused engagement, chime in if you dare.
There’s a rotting black pony and we’ll share the main course.
Encouraging barks to jump, to swim, to be free of their wailing;
The Alternative Hymn:
“Bar the doors.
Light the fires.
Torch the literature.”
“Run for the hills,
my sweet darling!
Take wing and elate.”
A paper dream of queens and kings losing heart, shovelled deep.
This shuffling fool, bludgeoning faith where bastards refrain from this stewardship’s keep.
these towers wail with wonder.
Below we baffle for meaning
in staccato clusters of thunder.