Deep Insight the House of Moths

through the murky knottiness of hollow winter trees I saw the pale face of unseeing man who wasn't there through years that went by the candlelight is about to turn into fluid clay and wigs are prepared for nocturnal art art of waiting art of strangeness art of wishing art of breathing necessary for the stay between animate walls in a place where secrets buried within rise up in a place surrounded by forests of steel and aluminium prairies where vigilant cherubs carry revolvers and deliver all the cryptic revelations the disturbing motorcade is slowly approaching and someone is tapping on my shoulder