Lost within swirling pains,
stabbed by a doll’s hunting knife,
luckily shunned by your boring,
pieces emerge faster now,
shooting out Pluto.
The boy has anonymous women around his thighs.
Something is missing in the cobbles.
Lights locked in a glass box.
Death will be on the wind.
Wolves will gather in the days to come,
our children’s children will never be safe.
Ignore the copper and run,
time will stop when you want.
Lying face down
hanging your head over a cliff.
You drag your body back with your toes,
hands to the sea,
the birds refused to get involved.
next one! Next one! Next one!
You’re losing all the time left
and you haven’t tried hard enough!
Don’t let the sand gather!