Equip

Equip 2/19

Leather the sun
                        break it open
Let the insides drip into a cup
made of lead

Over here
there is a tomb to some dead priest
The cup sentinels awhile
leaves rings of green

Rust the moon
                        pop the edges down
Burn through all stone and all sky
There is a tap root running through the universe
It hums with the sound of bone

Let everything stir until red
Let it feel in the gut