I Call to the Birds and the Black Things

I call unto you to the bounds of acclaim
because, bluntly, I direct to you all of the blame.
The latter night fractures of figments and splits
of a foolish mistake you care not to admit.
As moonlight illuminates a path far too dark,
you rupture the earth with your devil's mark.
The clock pulses feebly with some whirling throb
for dead deeds die from an apathetic job.
Thorny lip tucks and a gossamer hope
have feather spun slaughtered our impeding elope.