You defy the inevitable
Gliding over statistical probability
And sure things
A faith-shaker
Meant to destroy souls
And poison confident minds
With the fear of
A type of uncertainty
That would stagger
Heisenberg himself
You are the Hail Mary
On mud-slickened fields
When time stops
You are the phalanx
Of twelve black craters
Crowning ivory plateaus
Admitting quarter to my enemy
When slaughter was so imminent
You are the runner-runner
Drowning all that is right
In the depths of The River
And you make me sick
