Breath of summer's tongues chosen before the frost tightens, trimming the lace from honeymoon pantries. Suckled for a mercenary's stew, never pardoning where Easter's anchor blooms. Meanwhile, the strumpet queen faxes dead ant eulogies to the severed hands sleeping in the caldron of do-wrong ink. Chop, chop, the bloodied tarmac smells. Spoiling the illusion, collasping souffl scarfs arond the weave of feathered minds.
Brain chimes deafening the wailing from piercing darts dipped in unforgiveness.
CAN Think, think, in melody of flaxen phase. Mind to erase, wedding spoken out of turn. Obnoxious splinters, interlocking, conspiring dents in waterfall flushes. Shuffled decks stacked to wear. Aces drawn by arrogant hands, convinced blessings they've tasted are a worthy toss.