It would be meaningless to pray

The beautiful lashes, the cruelty behind
A thing of beauty may last
I wonder
Soft warm arms, overflowing tenderness
The dark forest of the mind

When the oak tree broke
First was the sound then the
Leaves on the ground
And no more branches to hang on to
An empty landscape with thousands of faces
Melting in the rain
Present and past never mingled anyway

Only one eye showing off on the pillow
All the rest shyly buried down beneath
Those bruised knuckles will never sleep
Ticking clocks lick each fold of the flesh and the sheets and the brain

In the end a man dressed in white
A cedar, three pillars and a needle
Promises were made the way lives are taken
It would be meaningless to pray

Chris Burden, Through the Night Softly