A man with a coil-like case
Crossed the street,
A woman with white-striped gaze
Nailed his feet
One clear taste of her hair’s rye
For black mourn he would give,
Change fine glimpse in the crown of his eye
For thorns from above she would do with relief
All those strained, all bewildered,
Alive or dead
No trace, no thread
The bridge that ate
That ate towers
Shall never reach the lowest shore
A child with robes of an age
Shut the door,
An adult of one other new stage
Burned down its core
For the growing-up it would give
Every single slice of its sky,
Manhood’s sweet burden he wouldn’t perceive
All inner personas to deny
All those strained, all bewildered,
Alive or dead
No trace, no thread
The bridge that ate
That ate towers
Shall never reach the lowest shore
No lore and no experience,
No existence and no deliverance,
The bridge that ate, that ate towers
Should have never been bridged
