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