tongues tide

lapsing where the fire's inside

purchase granted in crevices born

anew; those defining, wracking moments

where we may whet our ruse:

fleshlessness disguised

as godlessness.

they called me Brindle:

baptized by brine and bristle

brushed steeline, raising thistles

where my lust for life was thought to be

the nuturance of dead. weight.

they ca...

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