Brian Horner

we have never whispered so quietly in the daytime
have never sought refuge in wet summer prisons
loved each other on candlelit blood beds
shown so little while traveling with every idol

we are a lost identity, forgotten fingerprints
traversing over shallow sea
what need of boat
what need of liquid trails
what need of paddle, oars, and loosened sails

we paint lepers on tanned canvases
limbs disengaged from body
organs falling on murky ground
self-inflicted murder, unashamed apathy

look

The Wild has been swallowed by city spider webs
and wicked electric night