The earth runs deep in the skin of a god and so they say.
But all is quit now: bondage, blinding, beneath us.
Sums of summer past the days far away it will be gone
The moment we wake up and the wind simmers water
We could have drunken is not for the ill ambition
Of an already entitled intelligence weather it is lacking but not so bold.
The faux meet in the over hanging of a citadel; plaster and desperation
But they say it is sold as boredom creeping and over flowing into
The night, not what we expected but for now I see you and I picture
The vessel that died over and over until we met in the over pass.
A death for all that is greater than the peace of slight apathy.
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