the pyre and the ancient truck

the pyre is not set upon the
Course for

an afternoon stroll through firewood, the corpse
Will tell; the

pyre is built up through time, the coarse fabric of
Time, and

will not burn till you set upon it the foundations of
That which

Needs to be no more.

the ancient truck will not
sit idly by

it will not grieve the harp
of swarm &

guilt; it will not brood not
crypt a bitten

heart, a bidden harp, a blue
stolen from

the cusp of yellow rivers &
pallid rock.