the opportune time to sink the
mynah, to catch the phrase
from singing, to build the nest
that prods the shark of time
to die and die again; there is
blood, but the sea-shells have
conspired to whisper it sacred;
the scared waves will repeat.
spell thusness of a milky way,
the grasp of how a red mistake
meanders its way into the lush
parchments of a noon abandoned.
spell muskness of an introverted
thus, voting capillaries of choice
into hesitant action, and debunk.
the tarantula of wisdom goes hopping
against hope, wishing against the
loss of time and its tender mandarins,
seeking soothe in the bask of a sun
disparate with livid flames and a tender
though burning heart: wisp of thunder.
reminders of the cull will resonate
stricken streams of a humbled scream
coagulated, and there is pretence of
harm, of a deliberate wind of harm
that captures the bits of soul licking
wounds of yesterday spilling out & over.