Dancing down black, bourbon soaked street tops,
mannequins painted with maniacal faces,
pulled by marionette strings, chase the luminescent double lines.
Cloaked behind unclouded skies, the mind sways,
thoughts rustling, like the windswept tree tops.
Dressed in shadow-dipped robes Her delirious monks
are drawn devoutly from their homes by Her orb,
hanging full of reformation in the sky.
Waxing and waning, the worshipers feel it in their blood,
a corporeal tide, proving themselves un-befitting a corpse.