Titles are things 
chase me down hallways 

speaking to themselves 
drafty and draped
 
about what goes on
underneath my war paint.

Spills into a gorge,
creeping with lusts. 

The mad the sad 
and the bad

hanging at altars risk 
where begets the kiss 

at doors of heavens' 
ruling fists 

and sorrows that mask 
my absurd nativist.

Pouring down your pants 
with Kafka implants

devolving into  
fizzles with heat

losses too proud ?
for suicide to eat.

Factions
running into action

accepting proposals 
for familiarity or its defeat. 

Wan pasticheur's 
curried doom, crankcases - 

how be it friends
in high or low places ?

Stripped arrowheads
off my bear in air faces.

Where kiss the sky 
for malingering traces

encompassed alive
your malingering graces.