I scalp the ridge which sustains my existence
And gauge the cushioned rose from it\'s root,
Antediluvian nails in death\'s suspense
Whom floods with darkness eternal loot
In stuccoed succour of a pine\'s sustenance,
Digging up rusty soil which heats and clogs to soot
These stumps I amble on as I un-earth each sense —
And once familiar, animations of the Soul
To a knotted pole, where the winds swallow an empty bowl;
I scalp the ridge which sustains my existence
And gauge the cushioned rose from it\'s root.