As the Moon Falls

your freckles dance in the spotlight of soft stars
summoning the sandman with sagging eyes
he unties the hands of time, bound by licorice veins
that steam with cool sweat that sparkes like dew
and upon the risin sun
hearts tuned to an unknown frequency
we will pray in our filth-filled graves
for the old to replace the new
we shall chant aloud in our state of psychosis
and claw at dirt and worms until our fingernails dry
until "we are dead" becomes "we will die"
and the shrill screech of death
becomes a newborn's cry