The edit

Got no sky
only shaded views
stumbling tongues created news
deaths sitting in the cats cradle
voices stretching into dimensions lost going lost coming back
words painted on the mirror read where the book is blind
sages drinking broken glass
picking wisdom from a blood soaked tree
i hold myself where the blurred wires are cut
turning globally inside out
soaked footprints reminders where life was thinking
you touched me from that razors edge
sucking decisions gleaned from leaching granite skin
educated abundant cell
solitude shadow
sliced from light
placenta creased beneath the forge as an iron cross hangs
this question born
soft moulded clay seats the lay
stretched against the threaded silver lines
rested dancers
scrape the ink and moss
this scene
where names lose and forever
lost