I tie float in a lake of black
as nuggets of gold breach the surface
and wrinkles of flesh grown soft pain the neck's cloth

Or door I fall from the heavens
upon a beggar's choice of cologne
and vagrant despair unhinges the door in the yellow wood

But not He stabilize in a mass
upon which words writhe and form
becoming a castle on a road made of fleshy mouths and souls.

(Forgotten Date)