the words
are swimming
just out

of

reach

focus
is fleeting
lost
in the daze

of

the holidays

a coup
a coop
a loop
in lieu
of anything

making

any sense

the ravens circle overhead, beady eyes trained on the slow moving body leaving a trail of crimson across the hard packed earth

seven times seven times seven times seven the angels wept as the brass bell tolls hollowly over the sands of whispered lies