This is a woven chrysalis clarity which I've swallowed
Existing without purpose or function,
some requiem, composed of delicately rending notes-
the naked laughter of goodbyes...
penciled-in with stagnation,
the extinction of dead ideas in half-note staccato repetition
ensuring their ease of erasure
Desperate, clinging to some vague cosmogenesis
that aspirations might file across the wrong direction,
unnoticed but for the soul:
Push-pins into effigies
slipping on grins,
convenient needle masks embedded by their own weight
Roses bleed the fields
wherein existence cannot be bound by paragraphs,
My beauty as epitaph.
Intentions transformed into some tactical impurity-
a syntax, light in refracted splendor, a firelit birth
Titles-
occuring as though spontaneous in their deception.
Concurrent. Damning.
The argot of emasculation.
Tongues like precision vivisection promising a liquid defeat
A little wine for the nerves
A touch of comfortable contempt for the frightful
Some venal propagation of false security
There is no lee of this stone
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