now that the death has come
and allowed me to live
without breathe in a realm
of incertitude

waiting in the radioactive

hallways for adults in

suits of meat and bone

with fire in their bullet

the demons are not real

and never were here

on this earth but the mountain

and the thunder and the darkness

and the cries and the gamble

and the dice and the skull

the switchblades of destiny

and the forsakenness continues

until the sky is clear

behold a dove does not return

modern time is old

and i of decrepit filth

left by wood jet engines

and a grace that is unfathomable

to the tiny soul piece of spit

in the ground