Whitespire's low canopy hung off long hand...
while the sour birch prostrated before your beady...

The surreal embers
glow within us...

I cut my sorrow open
and let the black glass...

She posed like a crow
darkly vulnerable yet...

Pump my heart into an underground river
where each molten stone and message...

They didn't create
perfect...

Quiet curtains pick up their tails,
leaving toward Arctic drift...

I thought he needed me
like rainfall begs for light...

You held out your hand
to stroke the sun...

Reveal your unobstructed purpose for me
for lonely eyes I am an entity...

I stretch my mouth
like a troubled crow...

Destiny has no lead
for I am unmistakably the criminal...