the watch from saturday
holy Rabboni when the stone rolled over your face the oldest stone there is in the world it just kept going it was oily and alone it had drove to a sweat while it rolled and I know when I reached over the cold it was the cold you had become and so so very old would grow a mouth and blow a wind the only wind it owns and it would moan in my hair and expose my tone deaf ear it would go down the throat of it to the cochlea it would foam in the gloam it would be me and my groan it would take over it would hold it would croak oh oh when the stone rolled over your face and I was alone
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