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Uncouth

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A whiff of quorum’s ink, dark’s proclivities pulsing
the hive of an addict’s veins confessing sundown
as the moon’s tongue drips the inkwell’s blood

yet the script runs deep in the Rorschach test
of the mind’s, Hallelujah, clockwork worned
gnawing at alibies caught in the teeth

curdling the jury’s ears sewn shut
circling the pyre of the condemned
the hive of an addict’s veins confessing sundown

as the quill’s bib drips midnight onto the page
the echoes have forgotten how to scream…
it ain’t easy being uncouth

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