Will Ye Nill Ye

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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