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i.
I must bear the mechanized clarity of emotional vandalism,
to wait in line behind people who have promise.
I am a quip of the slughorn & I consider this land dangerous.
I am responsible; an easy mark,
my spirit willing to fly while they whisper "how dare she".

Now I have a handful of the killer.

ii.
The apprehension of the more educated
- man claims to be equal to the truth -
drives focus on the principles of civilization:
an epic story of how society determined our breaths this season.

A requiem's all wrong, for the gravity is weak.

They are mistakes that in some last moments, you believe.
Even in the caged sheet of flame - I saw them.
And you would fear a thousand times the darkness that pulls in May;
rangy bones toss their dark manes and hurry back into the barn.

iii.
Man is the circumstance that makes a circle of songs
where we can shroud ourselves in this terrible thing.
We must accept our blind death among this stagnation;
must be burned in the heart of the sun to make a most definite spring.
An auspicious start to a repeated frame.

If your deeds are a vice, then so is your sense of perspective.
I put this shadow on the prowl.