Dead Heart
Wastefully save the upright sag of
Blue's crooked green leaf, and
Place it, strikingly and removed, on the
Blurried, used-up, half-alive shelf.
Next to drunken rhetorics and
Crumbling feature-futures.
The disbanded play recklessly on, and pretty,
But bore no sprain fact for jumping down.
Steer quickly, and annoyingly leave the
Winddrop beaten and gasping for
Situated solace and
Stimulating forgiveness.
Barbaric modesty still falls for the
Unrequitted love of
Humble anger...
We are all where we are,
At least for now.
