Electrified vanilla knives,

a glitch-run enterprise

disowned by the thieves

who stole it.

Platforms pockmarked

by magnetic bombs

whose mouths of shadow

pour with lilac branches

and rust-caked conscious tools,

the seams in liquid rock

alert with frozen tongues

and settled fragments.

The panorama's gap

an empty eye

that swallows clouds

and rains on underground chambers

bright veins across tin floors

with little teeth

each one a sad enameled brain

a fallen stranger.