dark light of sound now the sacred crow sleeps and honours death;
green mouth of child knaws pumpkin seed of warm embrace to powder,
louder calls the dust of brain, the crust of bread remembers,
times swill when dill of artichoke came seething city wound as spring upended;
in weathers cold as the sleeping gods guides primrose to the great vein;
to the promised sun, the hanging moon, the comet of the sucking cloud,
tastes only blood of movement as the standing still of the hanging foot,
kicks barefoot as the dancing voice of meadowed mood in a strange mans flood of wheat;
rejoice, be merry, now the berries of the dumb heart whistle;
thistles white as the christmas beard on the great mans chin of china,
builds walls as tall as the snaking ears, beds feathers ripe as Sunday.
digging grave for beast now the knife and spoon of afterbirth,
eyes deeper ark for the two strokes on forbidden breasts of smog and horn;
be born. be life. be dead in the sockets eye where the black coin drops;
crops eyes of brided lemon grass now the cattle of stampede walks lowered bridge.
now sails each golden vessel through the green thumbs of the swollen throats of tickle.
dark light of sound now the sacred crow sleeps and honours death;
be born. be life. be dead as trees as bright as apricot;
no time to die. in life where walks where love cannot;
you will never see me cry!