When it comes knocking

It will be covetous
it will be covetous
It’s hand will hold nothing
it’s hand will hold nothing but this
It will fuck in daft charcoal abrasions
It will hold nothing but this-
No creation, no blackened humility
It will know nothing but this:
We’re something to be cut down
into a life’s worth of sawdust.
it will feel nothing but this.
in serrated nightmares it twists the steel
into some erasure, some memory unclear
It will hear nothing but this
grinding of gears and the wails of grotesques
It is headed this way, but its not here yet
It will be covetous-

Shrewd in its anger
it will languish in the winter harbor
and all of you will be there-
all who care to slumber
among the solemn purple tones
before the quiet of the sunset
somewhere only found alone
when everything is made cold at the moment the sun rises
then gazes down at the face
floating in that pale blue cold water
We waver then we falter, and we know what we invented
we shook each others hands but nobody had to say it
will be covetous