this is my wild mind i offer you this may night, the alley cat's mournful screaming below my window,all i can think of is bone and sinew, every cell of the night pulsating and how the heart must feel when it stops.

beneath my muscles, beneath my flesh my bones sit, wet and covered in moss, lichen.

 blood flowing down continents, migrating like moonlight,

 i don't know much of my ancestors, what kind of people they were, were they warriors?

 who would i have been at other times? interpreter of silence in this age of machines, those times were uncluttered. speech was honest.

 angels, mercury, murky revelations in my coffee grounds

Archangel was a great Russian anarchist strong hold, and is now home to many of Russia's best goth bands.

i am afraid of my stars sometimes, i will not read my horoscope.