Aglow, in a genius mode
deserving of the dirt scratched out
by golden claws; ragged in a sea of yellow
The ism in your dirt is new,
will you help me spell out the faces?
in tune with the metal and foam
while spilling the drenched fangs
from a separate heaven.
Understanding the mouth of your destruction
as I attempt sleep inside the gold balloon;
fill your palms with stings from the cradle
inverted on a ply of cries
Afloat in a sea of yellow; no eyes to cover heaven
frozen atop the broken pendulum, no strums to carve your knee.
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