Brimstone and bloodshed, eyes that a wander, I put foot to ground, and on my way left
The rabbit in its top hat, a skipped under highways, it whistled and waved, and I leapt, and I leapt
I put one foot then another, and I slipped down its burrow, I went under, then under, to the left I should have kept
There are furrows and chiseled brickwork in my breast
There are funnels that keep the blood a swirl in my chest
There are lanterns that lit the horizon in mine eyes
There is a hag that cackles at the date of my death
For a year or an age in them tunnels I fought, my eyes turned to marble, my fists broke like glass
I discovered the wheel, I captured the flame, doorknobs proved tricky, yet progress can't be stopped
The litter, the literal, the literary, the lost, have a library in a time that once coined the term God
Ants burn under glasses, the fickle winds toss, the path was afire once more, I was washed
I am dead once more risen, the very ground trembles
I am gone once more home, and the gate has been barred
I am perched on the angles, between twilight and eyesight
I have come home for one more, come home to roost
