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4 CONDEMNED There is a void Stuffed With cotton-tenebrity; Bequest for us; newborns Treading the greed-scorched Earth Death row Is for souls that Such rapacious times as these Have tried And found Guilty Of righteousness Coffer entrails: staple delicacy for these budgetivorous beings; Long-handed executioners Wheeling us; the damned To our very end Strapped Helplessly Unto gurney-days May their pavulon Become our elixir when reality alters its face And the hand of inscrutability Sugars Into a sweet dream, Each and every bitter nightmare ...

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