coming up slow

this garbage is the

mouth of Death.

this sick speak –

we are,

mostly,

good in the soul,

but bad in the mouth –

we are the screaming

Dead, mouths full of

piss and venom.

we are simple

and sad

and wondrous

things made of sleep,

dozing to the sounds of

the Masters

that came before

us.

mountains drown the

streams by blotting

out the sun while

the rays weep gentle

by moonlight.

be good to one another.