Olympus Mons

Never you

Pass on through

And still
Running marathons

Weaving in and out
between the synapses like traffic cones

Ostleress of the dark kingdom

The one whom follows hell

Leaky faucets are easily overlooked,
bleeding the last of our water

What’s gone missing

Snared on a loose nail

The sore thumb gets hammered down

Pointless as the whittling of pegs

Unrelenting, cursed vision

The Star Man is burning

Screams, never ending

Breadcrumbs in the land of sparrows

Unraveling with each step

Towards the very eye of the storm

A fourteen mile ascension away from man

Divine iron from Littlest Mother

Warmed and reborn in the wake of its open mouth

To forge a blade

To cut out each and every heart of this wretched worm