The crisp’d innings of
Lust, listless and longevity
Held its own death
Against the filter of brevity.
Thus beheld,
The power of sin and causality
Sanctioning the lines,
Cataclysmic lies
A rouge for intention, out of intention.
In Spring the winds
Hold a density smote
With vintaged irony,
The pull of the heavens
Lighting the conversations
Of enmity and forgery,
An impression to behold.
Has my word
Turned into the ashes
Of Alexandria’s standing demise
While the age between
Your sacred eyes
Turn into the gauntlet,
Promising luxury and conspiracy-
A sheet of tattered paper
Lying within net worth,
And Midas’ money
I shall warn you,
I hold the fruit.
The lactose, the sulfuric acid-
Lace my edifice as I
Strut around the hallway of heaven,
An intermission between
The snake and the bush.
The Edge Of Verbal Oblivion 