The veil
Is drawn in the
Inbetween
Spaces.

Where spirits dance
With the schizophrenic
In an apophenia,
Meaning
Becomes subjective,
When you see signs
In everything.

So cast the bones
Draw the blood
And make for
Yourself
A sin offering.

The goat
Is often not from
Mendes.

But I crave the darkness
And din
Of dusk,
Perpetually without,
Dawn.

Return to the frigid cold
Of shadows.