I cry, I cry and I cry. I spend my drama on coins, because the red shadow impales me. Blessedness walks into my sandal because I hold a patch of water to your eyes. Lashing the sky with my broken mace, I send my shredded mother into a white bone. She wakes up, finally. Her hair is gray and black, and her corpus callosum surges with information. Living inside a polyp, I pray to my own heart and drift away.