Custom in gold. line of blue hemmed on the fray.
Wrote down in pair.clenching eyes out with the suede.
A poor band that play, tread the pavement, hit the plays.
It strikes in just, as the lines reach to a phase.
Bond black and close, to I kissed her in the shade
Neck hung in dower, til I leveled you away.
Still think like a fairs, in the cluster of parade
You enter and waver, out in city far, fetching space.
And there is a knife. there is a knife, slowly sinking, up at you
There is a knife.
Neck bone is curved (coved?)
As they rise, rise, turret rise
Lean back and fourth, and the flies lie, let it lie
Touching her hair, switching grey rock, itching black
Blood fills the nose, poor hand strikes out back and fourth
And there is a knife. there is a knife, slowly sinking, look at you.
There is a knife.
Soul.
Sight.