Red rose romance,
Weddings, wilted...

This day, Winter sat upon the land,
Its bloodless knife sitting in its open hand...

Tell Mother I've gone to marry a man with green...
Green as as the ocean...

Self-abortive, psychoactive,
broken lyrical machine...

He says his thoughts are tangled like
Thorns...

Colour leach between lines,
Ink is that...

Lost connection,
Grey flesh, concrete...

Bend
shake...

His life is a mirror, the mirror is stained.
He thinks he knew what they meant this time...

"A bird!" cried he, and tipped his head...
Mouth open, as if the cloud would crack...

Oh, you child of Earth and seed,
Wingless fledgling of ochre blood...

I turned my back to the Sun's harsh rays,
Haven't a lust for light these days...