tortured skies filled

with broken windows

lacking eyes; —

someone told me

I bleed a lot

through my fingers,

and so the rain

falls in tortuous ribbons

shackling a horizon

made out of bones

and terror-struck frowns:

a world of madmen,

shrieking for lips and hugs

fluid-stuffed bodies, beaten,

bruised, I watch it crumple,

the world, like a paper flower,

burgeoning, alive, struggling

in the fire, tallow with burns,

caught amid his brass teeth.