Wracked

With fired Summers I will toast the year
Their rent husks lie there neutered on the ground
In failed exuberance, and all around
The thought of shapeless heads reduce to tears
With evening comes the scratching of our fear
The subtlety ripped out in lumps of sound
To clench this knowledge we ourselves are bound
And herded into dusk and all that's drear
The trunk of human time stretched tight within
Does little for the paucity of dream
A vital mouth is struck beneath our skin
And all the world is echoes of its scream



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