Is that just rust in the mist of your eye
That lets out those bellowing sighs?
Or is it just heads of cats in a bag moaning like ancient kings?
They pound in cupboards that I forgot
Humming their hymn of dusty echoes
Spreading and staining throughout the night
Shedding out galaxies bright and yellow
That cannot be the one you want
Nature forbidden
Shifting slyly
Joining a band of misers
And these craters of doves are cooing blindly
So tell all your ones and I’ll tell all my ones
That she lives off black moths at night
She’s having a seizure in dark alleyways and she’s
Coughing up globs of light
So you’ve got these rusty homes
And I’ve got these bags of bones
You’d stab all my fears with invisible spears
And yet, you do have none
Is that just rust in the mist of your eye?
Is it just that that bellows and sighs?
She’s got the heads of cats in a bag
I’m late for the Residue Hymns
Now I’m here, but I don’t see them
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