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Monarchiac

de Virüs

Remembering how you went far through the red grass
Disorientated in the wetlands
The mounds of stones, shivering
You asked the fertile crescent about the blue flags of the dead
The persistent scalding tone of voice
That you dance to and forget

Blind like bones, it seems you derive from stones
Black lights make your eyes run dry
Makes you swirl away like dying dogs
A greyhound derailment
Through muted cheering
You ask the fertile crescent, with its outer arm
That waves the blue flags of the dead

Delinquent and yearning, you groom yourself smaller
Like a jaded barbarian
Drawn to the funnels of surging departure
Makes your eyes run dry
Makes you swirl away into the grey
Boisting the blue flags of the dead

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