And this is it, the frost protecting a slush lip The sky scowling, here they are, As mythed, our penny days Everything between us can be counted, taken But yet something forms, is gained Witchcraft on the mountain, fencing on the moor Sparks! And another tooth lost... Something made up and vicious flows beside us in the river Who is that carving a canyon with a stack of days? And when the water comes it's bitter, the bitter water of a polluted life. Why hope to be pure, why hope to purify? I hope to thrive, even in irritable murk, and I don't mean win. I can offer this full moon, this glossy once. The rupture rupts, and with effort I can turn the anger into a clever fish, Letting the mermaid's tail exit the day.
cdzhouse 