in no time, the ends draw near
the masks slip from their faces
no one notices for listening
to the racket in the street from
cracks in the walls
how often have you seen him
the miraculous blonde
giving black strokes for good work
promoting his designs for the
cracks in our souls
he’ll come through as the noise
fades into street shuffles
kissing those who killed the most
passing the dead with a sigh for
cracks in his collection
we are neither slain nor executioner
no dead, no debtor
he can’t see us so far
as we hug the wall he passes through
cracks in our world