“How what nourishes / we let destroy us. / Have we been making / magic or are we / just torched sorcerers // making excuses? / Burnt out from abuse, / too…”

“With fluid steps, trickling / toward the lyric’s edge, / indifferent as lips / to fever’s kiss, how drops / of sweat plod as dew must / against flesh resisting…”

“Ghosted, given up, resent louder / now, more apparent following our / mutal disavowal of this mission’s / fail, bells turn to bombs / to shatter what’s left of…”

“Atwitter through twisting thickets littered / with knotted appendages, whispers tipping / off fingers tell of almost / but will not tell all, / hint at vestiges of adventures…”

“Fear all feral, fractal, / tessellating jamble / of faces traced with terror framing / tattle, our tell trembles tremulous, // unremarkable, / inviolable / in its reverent // dissonance, distancing / us…”