5 November 2012
'I am a changeling, see me grow new wings'
Almost silence hangs upon his breath
Ancient tongues of forgotten language
In this place of death and dying
The rejected moans diffuse darkness
Fast-fill these shades of beings
Morning madness reflects well
Upon hand-pressed sheets
Night-neurosis
Sickly tasted in bitter pills
'Feel my new wings'
Skins lapses
Dries to dust
Nursed coils uncoil
Feathers in wind-pace find new ground
The Changeling • Opuss № I