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.