It cascades, a biblical flood of hounds,

Gnashing, snapping and tearing
Under a sky stained scarlet by spectres.
I still have a hint of that thermonuclear air in my veins,
But it’s on the verge of running out again,
As the canine currents sweep me miles and miles off course.
 
Honeysour stomach, 
Eyes more eggshell than kaleidoscope;
I’ve been persisting in spite,
Despite the dogs and ghosts of this.
Limping towards a horizon twisted into cruel grin,
Like the maw of God after losing it’s pearl.