The hearts you moulded, stagnant colonising, damp,
a blooming poison looming eerily and blank.
Twinkling visions play on eyes, on lids also,
stuttering restless, and looped.
Circling ticks, but no sense does last here,
sucking spirits through glass pains
with filth fronds unfurled.
Stairs straight ahead in this house held with hope,
a hologrand horse clatterdragging an echo.
Curtains screen nothing, walls of books laughing farce.
The printers need reams, inky words, inspine.
Show mine before mined and minds mired by line.