Your containers of teeth.
Or is it repetition I must break?
No longer must I take the ears from a Titan's form.
No longer will I peddle for cord so thin.
Not in this market's sandy square.
Be it a square, a river, a helix.
All shapes and all colors will to make brilliance in these eyes.
Under the ashen rain.
Not a sentence to file away.
I'm behind the faux steel cupboard.

The meek shall inherit the art.
A mob of sisters clutching grains as treasure.