I close the lid of the merging lipids;
And I open the pourer pot of polyp
Hail to certain reference
In olfactory alchemy I thought was sufficient
In the organs, seethed interview of entrails in discordant
lullaby
Never enough to lure
A sponsored somnambulist
Rummaging for the lost quarts of an inch
Of hounds
Of pounds
And the crimson flesh of Haram
Only to format a colour like a sweaty & panting painter
Honing for pulmonic wings
Of fate
Just like the fairy jerk-soul of a caregiver
Whose pecuniary symptoms are just a way of the garlands
Interred and scorched for the pilgrimage
To eternity.
I close.
