well written
At the Gallows, limped flower
Growing, golden
In her eye
Freely flowing, nightly, shiver
Copper rotting
Tears of silver
Blackened bite, the breath is bitter
Deep below
The shoals of lye
Bare, beyond a languid visage
Dogged land
And labile sky
- - - - - -
"Bourbon straight, babe. Yes - thanks."