the sky was pierced by graphite rain. the ground hissed and bled, oozing daisy-pus, cracks that ran into the bark. there was no song. there was no girl in an umber gown on the horizon, tossing fistfuls of hair to the wind. for lack of sacrifice, the air lost itself to dryness.
if you offer your mouth to the clouds now, you will taste salt. the neighboring plateaus hold seabeds on their tongues. bedrock of needle-bones and fossil. in our spines the instinct to bend / to burrow into dream.
do not stroke our coal-striped necks: our speech hammers without musicality. do not reach for the pearls we will swallow them for safekeeping. this room of rain does not make you one of us. this room without walls withholds more than you think.