nothing is so pernicious
as the charismatic contagion
an embalming fluid, this blackdamp
of cold light and scattered countenance
the unconscious reflex
of our shameful spewing
be there any frigid agony
in it, or torpid bashfulness
while the hypothermia in the entrails
will make the melancholy atomic
frostbitten wildwood
of trust and confidence
deadweight of thorns making an
all-out effort to bloodstain the margins
a signet from long past
yet so painfully contemporary
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