"treads" [2004.0806.1227]

she's got Mars
wrapped around her fingers,
war machines
staring our her windows.

newer skies above
and between her breaths
    i wish i was dead.

        old gods gather dust,
        but i've got orange glow
        and i've come to get saved.

she cleans me with a stroke
and taps the button.

my cannon tracks immaculate clouds.
i look out the window
    and think about my corpse.