If your rind pops, don't call me:

I hate your kind,

won't drink your juice again.

The daffodils cry without their core:

their petals fly with me,

I won't come back.

The hacked sun doesn't desire

her planets.  The ruined glare

casts crushed light

across disarray: pert rings

and gaseous bulbs

are disintegrated.

The real lines bend like bodies,

conceptual trash is gone:

your populist religion

and decaying politic

have only wasted time.

The colors of life behind

the veil of lies

run forward raping space,

spirals drip gorgeous turmoil

through the mute mouths

of deific corpses.

The lens cracks

under a needle's grain:

sad species beaten back

explode in outward arcs

blood paints the steerless dash

a pirated remainder

rises only in forsaken hands

with spires set in poison glands

the necessary demon stranger.