There's something disturbing in the air. An eery, deep quiet; a boring hole of dark empty. There's nothing as loud as silence. Grey matter makes holy shapes before swallowing us whole. The moon pulls tides inward to the secret world of ocean like the soul pulls the body. I drool into my cup of dreams and pour it into a flowing river of desire. You count the rings of my fingerprints like the rings of a tree stump, and you find I am a thousand years old. An endless spiral, an endless song. We kiss poison and call it praise, we call it worship. We deny our powers in humanness and call it sin. Trees die, still calling your name. Yet you cannot hear for you will not listen.