Disjointed Pieces, Bits Of Torn

Disjointed pieces, bits of torn And butchered flesh, strewn randomly Around a battle field of smoking dun: These, these present verses, so I willed So my Muse willed dictating to my mind Sub-conscious all unconsciously: She led me to the desert, and there Parched and burnt I asked her for her water which she gave I imbibed it without a look at it: And in the night the cold fell from the skies And in the night the desert vultures came And in the night the desert wolves did howl And in the night the desert strangeness came Appearing like a mist, a restless ghost: And in the night the cold fell from the skies.