Midnight,
Hoots and despondent howls
From crevasses of puking earth prompt weakness at slumber

Webs!
They encircle the pin-line threads of silence, viciously muted,
Drawing porous patterns of maladroitness

Dawn,
Loose drops of old water, cusp-sized, blend with the rays of the
Rising sun, smelting our principles.

Images,
Lachrymose consternations congeal the blood in our brows,
Stifling the grace of blinking lashes

And we lose patience.
There’s a new-nurtured ruggedness
Which opens the snouts while we yawn.

In the distance,
Moonlight, sapped, means nothing with her downward gaze.
But the sound of maudlin drums hastens closer and nearer.