stovenly
Against Engulfment
dust and dust, the boy now rust. in truth, and thus now thoughts of lust alone, at last, a boy we trust
a man at sea, his throat cut deep, in truth to free a deeper dream seized and wrung out like the weeds squeezed and flung out like disease
a dragon with no wings or gold a smoldered grave, the truth be told trapped with naught but moths and mold tortured but for scales he sold
and dust and dust – a soul, now rust; the gold a plus, but truthfully the dream or bust













