the scum of summer kill lies in the plot
as peat and rot do lie within the bog
as hidden finch that twitch when it is shot
or crow that has no end in autumn fog
the stranger’s soft strewn skin is curdled cream
with maggots trailing kisses on her neck
as she had done upon my midnight dreams
but now she’s left in pieces of a wreck
the scum of summer has no fruit to bear
so let my vultures pick and prey upon
her tired cheeks, while i run through her hair
and gaze back on the lips i sang along
yes, life and love far gone and wings deprived
but even dead she makes me feel alive
