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In the cloister, where the moisture, can mold us

As crustaceans can sing their silent poetries

And I can feel the earthworms blooming

In the earths Dust

Lost into another moment

And the corpses dance around us

Their legs wrapped upon the crust

And their beating hearts pour asymmetries

And the trees crying lifeblood

I know this.

What comes after is just a lie

An ugly stain upon their faces

In the cloister, where the moisture, can mold us

And the mammals mate upon a carcass in arrogance

And a hymn is flowing in the distance

As if to mock our every rasp

Nothing can touch us, except the gleaming.

Get your hands off me!

And get your eyes up off me

Get your life away from here

Away, away, away, away...