Sunset, expect this to be your last one
with our vast return as your death is set.
At three sixes where hill-beacons burn, run-
In the darkness, undressed, blood-red, unfed,
as lips distend ending, time to falter.
Welcoming arms are wide and crucified,
Yielding a thirsting altar - the slaughter.
Lightning freezes seven outtakes, they died.
Sins expelled from heaven, now found below
where the tragic in theory had befell.
Last prayers hanging silently in air, so
strung where crippled vultures had dare excel.
We come like drumming thunder on scorched earth.
Who shares the laugh now, at our rebirth?

