Quomodo cecidisti, fili aurorae?
Lamentemur
Are we but shades
Cathartically shed on
A camera obscura of sorts
Capsized, washed out
Indistinct and begrimed
Here we must grovel
With dignity under a
Still peephole
Are we mere statues
Clustered in our glasshouses
A box with no confession
To kneel under a bronze law?
But the bronze law melts down here
As the smoking gun inhales
There's only ourselves
And the deaf walls moving in on us
Only ourselves and our questions snapped at
Only ourselves, sécreted once they're secréted
We are our own time-bomb flowers
As we're cluttering
A hothouse in a blind spot
A mass grave
That's manured with scandal
In no sun
