No Son Exists

yesterday is a corpse that you know
and gossip is the devil’s radio

a living funeral
a casket made
of black cat bone

the softness of silence
in perverse light
swinging on the gallows
of the all-seeing tree

peripheral vision
small gods
in conversation

walking hand in hand
with the dead
above the night

scaring the ghosts away

to live is to die
to die is to live

push through the pain
awake asleep
no son exists
that can eclipse this

truth comes in waves
lies cum the same
wake me when
the smoke
has cleared

©J.D.C.IV 2019

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