It is finished and it is
the coping stone in the prime
of the hierophantic what was
that it shall never be contained.
The lost are in a megaphone
of scurrying avalanche
to taste the chimes to flicker
as a welcoming to the storm.
Industry has its boss
weight of amber collapse
of a shameful garment what is
annulled to be rent and stanched.
Verily a sullied osmosis can vent
a langorous populace to tinders
and it is time sir to rehearse.
O where are the spies to recommend
the displacements of shadows
and where is the coming kenned?
Where shall the calf in the stall
climb to a tender merriment?