a grave

something happening, this place
a vacuum of dust that longs
for things to happen

there in the wooden place
a cupboards length a single ration
of food left to eat

there are books and minds
that breed creation by putting
romance in there sight

turn oh wicked one
feel the sharp pain cease
wait and listen to the radio
maybe turn on the tv

something barren
twisted manipulated and sadistic
as clocks beat on

something worth a war
something fatalistic that
leaves a sore and stink of shit
 
in there own laundry basket
something materialistic
labyrinths with girls and pretty lashes

something truant something you hear
that spreads influence
something that nails martyrs to the rocks

and wait for nothing but the shore
to drag them in, tide to take them
something worn in your sock drawer
that could cause a filling in a wasteless hole

and nothing more
someone dashing
someone cryptic gathering
looking for clues
what do we have a closet for

something happened
it went from person a to b and just collapsed
im turning off the light
and locking up the door
so if you see this fraction
don't ask why what and when
somethings happening for