Silence my cue and guide, I stood and left
to vacate corridors elsewhere and –while:
with time my thrust, all pins’ll reach home.

Doll of voodoo nailed to the wall
with strings long cut and forgot,
he now stands on his own.

Which he sought, he wants not found
for your savior’s not the savior of him,
but rains they fall, they stack and paint
ever more rust on the pins.

Nepenthe there may yet be
but well has she hid;
Daylight may yet find us
but weak has she waned.