FredStudios

Now his breath is black, like the space between the stars. And his eyes lower to meet the soil on planet earth. But the sun is bright and still- it still writes lines on the river; and it will set always so the moon can take its place. And the moon, also, will shine down; for eternity, they say. And he himself shall bring nothing; his body does not stop the harvest; his soul does not tint the clouds; his absence does not fill a single pitcher. And so his word is written as it melts back to the earth. Where he becomes, and she becomes: it. As his eyes fail to see, and his nerves fail to feel, and the tree in his yard reache

from catastrophe to incident, i've/ seen/ your precedents. yes, you are magical; you've got the head of a jackal. magical, indeed. when you're on the streets, people/ hand you money. yeah, your voice is just like honey; that/'s why you've got/ that cash/. yes, you are magical; magical, indeed. you folk dress so nicely. i hope it ain't so pricey. one day i'd like to/ be you. yes, you are magical, i saw your suit turn black; magical, indeed. i don't think you could ever lie/.

Accidentally deleted a handful of haiku about death.