Truth? a lewd's you
in known certain terms:
whether veins, when drowned
hawks a gin (loomin’)
a shin splinters as
mines bore on; why ‘ol
car bonfires grow tired
of a pack o’ lips’ wisp ring,
“Hydra Djinn—
Sine diem purgare nox.”
Redeem and weep
in tents, faces & phrases
met a fizz[i call]y
drunk in jest id bouts
wrested liver's tried & tested [buy con-
testant after contest-
ant] where West lids gaze
in two, the joy of the flame
hungry's gasping for air
[nothing's becoming] bright
berthed of ash-end tombs
lit up in the night.