Dear XXth century 
no one can darken skies like, 

have you even been in meaning? 

the forest on fire grows and glows 
with sediment gorges hauled by 

the clinking antiquated chain gaff: 
words are worms more than what it's not: 

"The Unnamable"  "The H Age" 

a fucking sick hello, hymeneal subjoinder 
from the whole fire and the sick 

wick   halted   vertical   locks 

by the riceless riverside 

this who'll (if the smokes come) 
carry the wind 

you're hair in, there 
being something you left.