The nights are like flocks of vultures
That splay apart, death-addled dreams
Then flutter
From the blast of dawn

I’ll emerge from the craters
To a feign fresh slate
Restored, to be gored by memory
Again

The past
Is a steady revenger
On an endless crusade
To unfurl, its madness

It snuffs out the rays of the moon,
Scouring, a cold dead world
For any utterance of prayer

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