The stones gatherinto an approximation of glass of that reformed beginning that…
Still wounded into this cornersurvivingby the sound of the throatwhere I used to put the good pen
Like a hero going to judge a bar fightone leg limpthe collection of memoriesthe presence of Morpheusthe sound of his upcoming tragedy…
Halfway shown a worldbreakingStill the music carries onsofter & more distant each clatter beyond the horizonof my chair