This gnawing sense of…
Is it urgency?
And does it collapse like
so many cards
on the table?
But I don’t know the rules, dear Prince
Worship has never suited me this well
So deep
Fingers reaching for
solace and summer
and finding a wet hot solstice
at the center of it all
Can you feel that, dear Prince?
That rush of
thinner than lava
but just as warm
burning composites of
rock (shield)
and dirt (shrapnel)
A train of fire
scorching the track
bisecting Jekyll from Hyde
This monster
feels beautiful sometimes
when you’re inside her


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