I guard these darkened halls
from a folding closet.
Light scatters across the planet
out of reach.
Chairs are set up in the mud
and left standing in droplets.
Polished leather marchers
stir the breeze
with fractured perfumes.
Screaming cleaners whack dust
from crucified carpets.
Long paths fall from the fresh eruption
and leak through the horizon's wheel.
Forests plastered with fake blood
falling under the sunrise.
Twisted stairs multiplying through
the atmosphere.
Nets of bone that don't break.
Sorrows pouring on the desert.
Ripples ping ponging
over the blended carnival.
And a fang, and a song for the earth.