Mantle in Shape of My Id

A line caught mid riff ——- A painted tong caught trembling
A light that sewed the Sun to my eyes ——— had an anxious, acute memory
To my trimmed satire, a birch kicked the sails
In sight, the river hangs ——– A gripping slowness tips my time

The loud laughter has sutured my ills ——— eleventh time struck off the ten ———- in sight my id revels

The blanket breathes my sleep ———- the air holds guilty truths
The light that enters my tinted lungs are a background for planets to shine
Even the shades that shout out more are in ennui of some lost idol
Envy can trigger a tic ——— the trick is ‘molluscs in sepia’ ———– when they ink the deep

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