"The Hymn"

Whiffing lungs, breathing a morbid June sky

unending sieves of criss cross strings
questioning pinnacles of blood bathe existence
crumbling dreams of rotten mind
which have spilled inside the chapels
fluttering flames of Gothic lamps
tiring existence of quenched proletarian colonies
frozen orchids
and here I'm all fissured
pointlessly breathing the gray lumps of foetid June air,
one after another...