Things were tough

The Hunt

Her medicine has expired
She burns her throat out in hot fire
it sizzles and spouts

pesky cheap noise makes her go deaf
she covers one ear with a curious fingertip
treasure, skill, strength is in the waste
she searches for prophecy in haste
biting at her limps

she's in her face, not in her mind
she views from her cheeks, leaves her paintings behind
her lid is leaking

drops of thick thought are spilling, they're pouring
into the dusk of a clouded eye
they're boring
strikes of lightning slay her to dust, slay her to leather skin
time to breathe

her house of god has been humbled
burnt to a crisp, it's torn and crumbled
what displeasure

please clean your trains you little girl
don't you fuss, don't you weep, you're dreaming
ring your strings girl, let them cry.
let them cry
don't be shy
walk your course

shes in the air
the waves of her climax gently touch
and stroak our hair
she's living