Heather Brooke Not Husband

My dear friend, brother Charles

"When as a cover, the sky low and heavy
crushes the soul cry out in his eternal boredom
and squeezing in a single circle of the horizon of a sadness
is blacker than night,
when the earth turns into damp
secret cell where he slams the Hope, so bat
with wings against the walls and the head rot in the ceiling;
when the huge lines of rain
seem railings of a vast prison
and dumb, nasty a population of spiders
inside our brains have its networks,
furious suddenly explode
bells and a piercing scream launched into the sky that brings to mind the moaning
stubborn
of souls no peace and no home.

-No drums, no music, funeral parade
long, slowly, in my heart: Hope
cries defeat and Anguish, despotic and left in my skull
stabs his black banner. "