this bizarre plea for that dystopia

dug here with slumber  

which might sleep for friendship.

maybe creep and demise passing,

a prayer and an assembly,

me and God in his chamber,

a euphoric chalice

that grasps a spade to dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

I take a spade and dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

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this mummifying is so glorious

give me the bandages to bury his face,

his closing caricature and the,

the one I desired to decorate

in seconds we slipped to the hours

holding jokes with steady smirks.

Sometimes I doubt we were sober

perchance drunk on endorphins,

fleeting his sorrow in airless punches,

ironic the satire we spoke fell flat,

spiked us stoned and still w...

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