Churning Cross

When the throat is straitened 

and each weeze a corrosive churn.

My eyelashes become mallets 

Pegging my sight down.

In ground.

Every raspy word lifts

Like steam in your cauldron 

Boiling and reacting and

Unhurting

The only way we can to ourselves.
We’ll collect the remains 

And archive the strains

But my mind will forget

As my body witholds.
And my brain will smile

At new seasons

And trends.

Forget the old, forget the current.

The future is definite so hold it 

Precious.

Even though my breath can’t catch

Up. And I’ll still lie.

I’ll still lie.

I’ll still lie.