As Cold as Cold as Cold

How many lost
never paid the cost
of being
ever found?

On this fallow shallow ground
dwells the barrow hound
rolling on and rounding in
without a bark or sound.

Grandly flows the arcane fuel
throttling our muse
never given up the mule
blowing like the fuse.

Longer minds cannot be cut
nether whirl and storm
lightning wheeling on the rut
sideways chiseled squirm.

Another benefit of hands
grafting onto floats
supple as a grave demand
burning up our notes.