In the quest for shudders
I was as the absence
melted in my hand
As clear as my gleaming sorrow
A spectral fascination
For irony to serve
are the glorious those who triumph
in a kingdom of eternity
a castle of sand
whose roof has sheltered my
I sense the absence of triumph and lust
abruptly rising to cover the glory in sand
A whore gave birth to the flies
who flew away with my beauty
A virgin gave birth to my masks
I simulate the absence
To enter a kingdom of
flesh a ghastly worn shadow
A fiery picture of poet in hel
Forlorn I was as poets should be
I am as chosen as the weaver himself