From Dalight

I remember this painted in laundry white
It’s such beautiful coldness that numb feels right
Fantastic specimen known to cause those harm
Twisted drone ripped from the false ant farm
It was all shaved head and climbing trees
Bile and shouts of make it stop please

Through stained glass you know that I became aware
That equanimity’s become my cross to bear
For too long, our verve’s has remained up in the air
Collecting all these trinkets reflecting all the glare

I don’t want to deprive myself of another
Only seen the sink and not of your gullet
I’m babysitting lines on my pedestal

Who makes these tiny things and so I call
Country whores with mourning cities on their neck
Hit it again and lie through stanza sets

Pieces of me fall far from dalight