When hole
in chest turns green
wind grows breathless
that reeling feeling
that burns & woos
that panic ensues.
Impassionate leanings
weighted percussive
held captive by moods
lugubrious & eruptive.
Swinging high on the hive
saints alive
freedoms devious
skip to the loops.
Luminous bedbugs
traffickers, snoops.
Beauty’s rogue economy
truth and dare
my toilers
my martyrs
my liberators
hands up I swear.
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