As turns up again
horse
and the headless 

salt of its sink
the nil to a null 
mull.

Ghost of spinning gun 
in basement 11

that weighs a grant
and cocks 
a death rant.

Pounding in heart
at the start

wore me apart. 
Best
make a run for it.

Its listlessness 
a violent abyss 

an angel of horror 
death and gore
violated by its emptiness.

Firebird dancing 
in contempt 
of time 

flambeau 
fugitive
in thrall to shine

braving tender sheen
of scars sublime. 

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