Un Less ✅

 Swanning for a rest,
backcountry prepossessed -
cannot in itself
destroy or complete
near shades of extortion
where sorrows meet.

Terror is an arsenal 
availing of freedom.
Old weapons 
appropriate oceans of sky,

waterwheel blooms
I swoon alongside.
My bloody-minded
make mudholes 

loves unnameable
treasons rejolt 

turns and burns
a migratory bulls-eye

skin running and quaking,
the naked half wild.
Beauty scattering 
misty mayhem -- 

here vies my delinquent 
starkly in wait

for doubles
snapping thunderbolts

to spasmodically 

As sorrow aches
to trust –

and anguish turns
to lust.

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