by accented
voice our utter rights but sunken
sipping
quicksand; where love is by association
or
anxiety is prophetic too close to pure
mutiny.
it seems acrylic it has become metallic
or
it cries while it whispers; it rocks softly in
rhythmic
misery or it needs anything crooning
affection;
at burning essence so gathered or
strewn
such captive opposition: with mirror or
chandelier
such sweet facial subversion. if it
lies,
it does by fear, for to be loved is to be
perfection:
alleluia eyes, incandescent tongue,
where
nothing filthy is worthy. whither songbirds
or
crackles or genetic interests—to flee by fire
to
wrest or churn with eternity cringing in praises.
