For they were unknown among the known 
Begging nothing of the atlas
Not time or sun to shine their miseries
Painting the fallen walls.

A lost cry in the bloated wilderness.

In the moor and mashes 
The faithful dogs turn hyenas and hounds 
Feeding on the festered conscience of the land
Waiting for the last wrath 
Cutting deep into the flesh of thunder;

And in our graveyard peace
Hearts and deaths negotiate directions
Driving bliss, quietude to hell

Beggars of the pearly palace
Slaves of the golden gates
Waiting, calling for their death dates

A baby’s fresh corpse is laid to rest in the oily river 
An epitaph briefly hyacinths the river.
Down the delta
A folded, cadavered silence walks the creeks..