Mundane riders

Mounted on silver steeds

Take to the sky

Planting their seeds,

The dark ones

Are storm clouds,

Keep glowing through silk

The worms make your shirt

Babies drinking mothers' milk,

Carousels and ferris wheels

Children riding porcelin ponies

A merry-go-round

That goes up and down

Powered by old, dead roses.

As the bowl distilled

The room was filled

A lawyer just passed out,

He dreams of things

And then he brings

His hand up to his brow,

A scowl skates

Across his face

As he turns

Into a villain,

Killing gods

And reigning free

He sleeps

Without a scream.