The Midnight Engraver
I saw the dead
come crawling out
of the latter-day
where saints are clocks,
ticking to tell us
our time is up.
come crawling out
of the latter-day
where saints are clocks,
ticking to tell us
our time is up.
The midnight engraver is chiseling my name.
Those emerging orbs
did none for me
as they clapped my back,
took my hand,
welcomed me as one of them,
while singing Bob Dylan.
The midnight engraver is working away.
The fogs they brought
stung my eyes
and sewed them shut;
I never saw
what all went on or
what I really sought.
The midnight engraver is chiseling my name.
When he’s done I’ll have gone away.
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