You and I are talking in the park
about the future reeling on its pins
to fall wet eyed and drunk on all our thoughts:
We think therefore we work hard to forget
the stitches stretching, giving way to truth,
and Spider Death's silver thin lullabies.
Hear the trumpets now as stars fall down
To the ground that shifts with every step.
Such bright new blooms, you say with red fists clenched.
As sure as gravity, we kill the smiles
That flit about the air, ready to stick
to all that passes for a human face.
Nothing should distract from all these wounds.
Their beauty shows in Love's inhuman light.