I am so weak, who should be blamed?
unless my cry was deserving.
The fairest  wind languishes
and still pick her spoils far deeper,
more injurious than moribund life.
This jaded ideal, sprang from the tyrants pass
this  earnest clanging,  this inarticulation.

The  Love  children gather in  saffron meadows  
needling their aura  for
a  portal  beyond  innocence.
Prophecies  anew
points towards  the  stone  canyons  
where  form undefined, almost contorted
settles  on the former  Moon children,
whose antecedences  coexistence  with their seven moons,
orbited  the limitless  vacuum.
A perchance  to dream
to dare.

Withelds  and thiefdoms
link towards sequestration
unedifying the same way,
but  I hoist my  pride
carrying  the lessons from this  travail  
from someone else's  making.
I  relish  planning  some  deceit
by means  of
never  hurting a  fly.

She travelled from London to Weedon
if only for a day she promised to be
someone of importance,
by burning bridges.
Espying the gentry by learning subterfuge
the romance of the veil,
observing the roses by feel.

The dawning oasis
with vin d'une nuit  drenching the sand
sees the good driven out
The long haired suitors
are voided by decree.
Storks bask  in the sun,
as Saint  Nicola's Paris jolt
ends before the carnival begins,
the fools largely spent.

False pride  tracks you like a  hologram
across  smudges  of  imperfection
you have  neither  friend  or  foe,
loneliness turns  your timetable.
Deadlier if  you  found another
with your  semblance,
negative  contact charged
will outlast the eons
further still.

Fire storm gave  you a cleansing  hand
cajoling not unlike a rabbit breaking through fences.
I feel more for foxes
but don't let that guise serve as something else.
Sheild my dignity by the pylons
deeply electric
azure as a dream
the bugles will surely entertain.
can closure be provided?