fifty-nine degrees~with Adagio

 
a reliquary curse
of lost souls
who are my muses
 
with a cloud of fleas
of ghost and beings
seizing dead at the portal
 
through the keyhole of pain
in disambiguation's rigor mortis
as I lay lame with icy veins  
 
cold to the touch
lest I embrace the soul
of the giver and find refuge
 
where umbra meets lumin
in God's own vessel
find me in the shadows
sifting the eternal essence from feces
 
I break in hours in the eternal light
shifting from one truth to the next
until there is nothing left
and I blow away with the winds
getting lost amongst the screaming
 
of fifty-nine degrees
beneath graveyard trees
drawn to death
 
prostituting the flames
with the devil's purse
a reliquary curse