Fold into land
Crawl back to oceans
In crystal vaults and gold prisons
Pots of mud; vestigial tongues
Take these my witnesses
Burn the votives
Each lunar cycle's crest
My lord is taken by seizures
And plucks his people's limbs
Without visible pretense
With lecherous relish
The mangroves drowned
The crane's beak trembled in my teeth
I drew the ire of the Father Star
And ribald jubilation of worms
The solid ground
Became dust beneath my feet
And I gazed into a visage
Made to resemble fear
Swallowed by dreams
I couldn't speak I couldn't eat
Amid foul murmurs demanding blood rivers
Fold into land
Crawl back to oceans
My king of late has not listened
Warnings fall upon earfuls of dung
The servants writhe with pestilence
Who will save them?