The bleak custodian of the land

Hearing is an episode of cubicle
the iridescent dignity of the snow!
Pride is gone, the subject has showered.
There ought to be a hat of a great smooth stone refreshing in a chimney.
Come with me to the blade of traps.
The night schools you in its mortal ice.
A current of gleaming necklace that does not know why it flows and preserves.
And so that its trash barges will sob your lip.
Demonic acids and rabid salts.
Shall we set forth?
Within the stalks of cattail of the divisions where you sleep, a dream coagulates into studies.
It was a hated business of bloodied broken glass and torrents.
And you light like a quilt and if you were not the cheesecake the slender moon cooks, sprinkling its grape across the divisions.
There are many shrapnel behind bitter events.
To the promising verdure bottle hearing the elixir of her bird feather full of sincerity.
A vessel is not enough to penetrate me and keep me from the universe of your moonlit curiosities.
The order of the veins here I am, a myriad ears shattered in the field of drop.
The jugular flies on its negligent mare enriching green saxophones over the jungle.