the skyscrapers within your palms punch indulgence into those veins...full of cinders and camomiles..lacking diamonds and rusty miles...
madder rabbits set brute alarms for the promises down the lane...salamanders predict crib death of the babes who erect god's bless...
hollow visions atop crane neck: headstrong women bite menace men, eating out their crooked heart for the sake of the numbskull art..

If I were just a spy on the deck...bringing vessels to deadly wrecks..would you still be in love with the rotting wounds of my juntas and Swift’s balloons?