for a night sky,
the eggshell of dirt
held together
by a latticework
of radiance.
The world ebbs
and flows
through hours of erosion,
its orogenies,
razor sharp.
Pale screen - frail shelter,
rotten rose ego,
ingrowing,
haunted
voluptuously -
how mindless,
the scraping of nails.
In red dusk
encompassing,
the street feeds
with silence;
flee momentarily,
a wolf second,
then it's back to
the infernal womb
that blindly devours
transient hours.
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