Quick silver streams over our hair and the blinding secrets of his lines sting us like vaccines.  Revelations Devine in doctors painters and poets whose grand appointments fixate out illness.
You were allergic when reality took his medicine paintings but you covered me in magenta quilts stitched black
Around the lateness of twenty years in a dark widowers red rest warning me about chain less camels and Chinese factories killing our newborns.  I agreed when you said the helpless close up and die shameless.