Rabbit Holes
The temples of opulence spread their banquets for select fewDaemony of appetite Royal obligesse of the flesh for sale
Electronica on a throne of hidden light suspect
Fingers thread the codes which switch routes of origin and intent
Scales groaning from the hollow weight of that which is not really there
Yet there it is again and does not cease the grinding hoax
Hawking for sale signs on armies of mortal souls
Searching for a way in only to be driven to the cliffs and holes.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2025-11-16 at 03:34
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