La Fayette’s burgeoning courthouse square.
A tan salon in Phlegethon. A rusted croix de guerre.
Our combatants are very with taken with
mad-dogging the sclera of their respective.
They bowl up like holidaymakers in chlorine,
moving the scene from zero to kerosene.
An almost comical hiatus of sinew –
I didn’t know you had it in you
– that seems a saloon-door for diplomacy
or an occlusion of the maddened coronary
but is in fact a silent starter pistol.
A burning bristle of fists hot for hospital.
One broken smirk betokens the other’s ambit.
Seeds from a pomegranate. Lights from a bandit.
Pupils are derelict. This is the abhorrence
nothingness has for the traffic of existence.
The clot in his cortex is reconciled
with the silent assent of the rank and file.
His last words are 'I beg your pardon'.
His children are playing in the garden
A tan salon in Phlegethon. A rusted croix de guerre.
Our combatants are very with taken with
mad-dogging the sclera of their respective.
They bowl up like holidaymakers in chlorine,
moving the scene from zero to kerosene.
An almost comical hiatus of sinew –
I didn’t know you had it in you
– that seems a saloon-door for diplomacy
or an occlusion of the maddened coronary
but is in fact a silent starter pistol.
A burning bristle of fists hot for hospital.
One broken smirk betokens the other’s ambit.
Seeds from a pomegranate. Lights from a bandit.
Pupils are derelict. This is the abhorrence
nothingness has for the traffic of existence.
The clot in his cortex is reconciled
with the silent assent of the rank and file.
His last words are 'I beg your pardon'.
His children are playing in the garden