Done
Silver sensations of screams
Evoked by ten cent thrills,
Kept waiting by the shatters
Of Earth in the riddled air.
Served in the house of bones
Stood the canny business twine,
That lassoed the golden youth
And shoved the shutter maker aside.
Worn from inked skin sketches
Dancing in the bare eye,
Sauntered and visited, watched
The bright quarter in the sky.
Dark holes in the ground
Traps resembling ticks to the flesh,
The low resin seeping like scorn,
My home in tethers lingers smoke.
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