pocket filled waistcoats rub
their ears, perception like
fist full grass, an expedenture
that pause when you drift,
as well.
you cannot carry two children,
one in each slid curve of elbows.
Their ringlets will weigh the mass
of expanding legions, discipline and
love in revolution an absence
from rounded bellies.
neurons do not balance in transgression,
their procession the infinite arch of
fugues weaved through rhythm erratic feet.
two strike a semblance,
a cape-fled general gagging hemlock
to the weaker stallion's dry spit.