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Of Roofs, Genes and Stolen Meanings
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Tusk
scarce rays of our sun
did not burn until the gold on your crown
mirrored them to focus
so to the sound of all the tusk
carved into piano keys
worn to ivory dust
I scream out to the scattering locusts
this is the dead end
of our lonesome road
goodbye ill luck farewell just go
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my worn swords won't cut your words
lamentations for your last world
your something new
and something old
something blue and green
and something sold
may the red empty
become your quick drop and certain stop
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