Hits and runs
the midnight sun.
Mining pining
winds of oblivion
displacements gusting
fire and death.
Sirens trill quix oats
full of lov
risking life
and the shouting mad.
Here comes the bad.
Jolts reflect
tinkling tinkling dualities
skinning across surface
like a wind wound
a sweeping array
of larkness darkness.
To root out the sword
down my throat?
At center of heart
circus contortions
breaking free
from frying pan
turning tricks
in my hand
a pig bed with gold
so I am told.
Like drinking
in the sacred
fresh bottled blood
as relics of woe.
Loosen the horror
loosen the ardor
racing through murderous lulls
fire engulfing
sounding alarms
floods and drain
love and pain.
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