Draft 2.7
Fallen angels 
do not wait 
for operations of justice

hell being too eager
with impetuous desire 
liquid with fire

an ignitability
that is sickly buoyant 
burning with curiosity

it grows and grows 
every feather 
a blue hotel

a flogging for the marring 
a phantom ship 
a mouldering heap 

leaps at tens
whenever heaven 

to take it to heart
descant with
defensive measures

bone up on its celestial treasures
wage white magic
populate the black arts.


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