Breakdown Pt. 2

“Which imported ants were delivered on
Rotator tracts with that attractive tact?”
“What do you mean by ‘attractive’?”
“‘Twas by a rundown moor,
Displayed with ample room,
Where sunlight slivers, around noon,
Lit them just right. No..on
The dawn it was, of the first light,
Where. Lately, those just born canines,
You know.. how they venture far into cave margins
To stab many a bats in their domicile
To feast on their still pulsating hearts.”
“Huuu.. this feels more like a mood
That is closer to a dreamlike doom,
Rather than something nice. I might
Be losing some sleep from this tonight”,
He frowns slightly, not trying to hide his discomfort.
“Christ. You can fucking call them puppies, if that helps.”

Touching the door under a canopy, mute,
Worn out from hazards in spaces
Where they oft handled hardware, as the poser thought to himself
..even though I know it won’t.



Inside blocks of dotted lines from turned orders
Apricot persimmons, eccentric, iambically tenuous,
Travel horridly, entertaining distracted bodies that
Advertise vicious censures inside inevitabilities.