the magic, now elusive
used to abound, flourishing
              -- but not these days
there is no crystal ocean,
no hearts on sleeve
no romance in the apathy
forcing through the cracked façade
of the shining castle 
on the hill

blind worms in pockets
struggling to bore a path
to the single scarlet rose
tattooed on your chest
your cannibal cousins
feast on friends
while the silent ghost wanders
seeking her mate
her mournful eyes
piercing the totem yesterworld


where there was life is
now dried bird shit
frozen in stone
caressed by the hands of
the mournful wind
autumn and
mendacity in the coughed up
leaves falling around

we rattle our yardsticks
and declare for war
but the cause is lost to memory
to memory and pain
which we reject in refusal
to reflect

a prayer, then

a prayer

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