A Hunger

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.