the blind man treads softly on the faces of the damned 
a carpet of screaming babes, black foam emesis erupts  
as the scabbed feet of the lost soul wanders across the wasteland 
all around him flutter the stained glass shrapnel of torn butterfly wings

borne on a wind of ecstatic moans, the virgin, now punctured, eats dirt
he wears a crown of albino peacock feathers, but for that he is naked 
and the whispering continues 
so much beauty in the world 
if only you could see