Gabriella Garofalo writes

Fancy a bit of trust from the universe  
Just when wilful migraines carry on through light?  
See, light knows the rays,  
Wind the gales, water the streams,  
Yet they feel hungry -  
What for? Words, the unchaste death of stars or a lazar house?  
Make the bread now, c’mon, and be your yeast the wrath 
Don’t breeze by, don’t even dream to share it  
Or charcoal morsels if he shows up:  
Breath stays with you as sheer poetry goes entangled in the green -  
So, high time for a clean-out:  
Bodies, distressing skies,  
The litter of bastard voices when alzheimer  
Floods his beaming jumbles entangled in desire -  
Here they come, mad trees in green  
Dissolve kids and teens, or is the light  
In charge of killings?  
Whatever, they stop and hurry words,  
The song stalking the dead -  
‘Dead? You mean they’re free at last’  
Hisses the moon ensconced in her safe contempt  
For cleansers, brush, set table and shabby stuff - 
Get ready, quick, the undergrowth will be home soon  
Back to his bites and peeves. 

[from A Blue Soul: Argotist Ebooks]

 
The Lazar House (The House of Death) -- William Blake