Piles of the Morning

Origins of faint sore dust looms in drinking waste 
Pockets pretending under soft vigils 
Gifts of seeking tundras 
Miles of ready tides 
Rusty leaves and tired mansions of truth wander into herds left blind Auroras deny bottled meaning 
Tired of want Ready for rest 
Eastern doors making dancing dens 
Proper spaces where open coins fall into trance and milk 
Piles of the morning

-Cory Tambourine