Palinode 30

Moan lord.   Show me your shoulders.

To die before you               (My)

(My) Combustible Body, lost in its climate;

The wind to blow the curtain off enough

To leave behind the next step towards productivity,

To follow.

So captive

how easy does circumstance bed you?

The rain has come lightly; it will not feed me fruits, plump, sweet.



This is

(My)

Tussle

To oust

Cloud, commotion,    AND MORE.